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ANECDOTE BIOGRAPHY 



PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 





2<^^ 




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0an0-0ouct 0erie0 



ANECDOTE BIOGRAPHY 



OF 



PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 



EDITED BY 



RICHARD HENRY STODDARD 




NEW YORK 

SCRIBNER, ARMSTRONG AND COMPANY 

1877 



5« 



COPYBIGHT, 1876, BY 

SCRIBNER, ARMSTRONG & CO. 



John F. Trow & Son, 

Printers, 

205-213 Easi 12/4 Street, 

NEW YORK. 




CONTENTS, 



PAGE 

Shelley's Childhood i 

Shelley at Eton 12 

Shelley at Oxford 16 

Adventure with an Ass '^-j 

Shelley as a Reader 39 

Shelley's Dietetics 41 

Shelley the Atheist 42 

Shelley's Early Writings 44 

Stockdale's Recollections of Shelley 45 

Shelley reading Plato 57 

The Wandering Jew 58 

Fragment of The Wandering Jew 59 

Rough Draft of a Poem 60 

A Poem by Shelley's Sister 62 

Shelley as a Latinist 64 

Shelley and his New Suit 65 

•' KoNX Ompax" 68 

Babies and Pre-existence 'j^ 

Patronizing the Pawnbrokers 71 

Margaret Nicholson y4 

The Necessity of Atheism 79 



vi;i CONTENTS. 

PA^E 

Expulsion from Oxford 85 

In Lodgings in London 91 

Timothy Shelley, M.P 96 

Harriet Westbrook loo 

Shelley in Edinburgh 105 

A Sunday in Edinburgh 109 

The Catechist 112 

Harriet's Readings 113 

Eliza Westbrook 115 

Harriet talks of Suicide 120 

Shelley and Southey 121 

Southey's Epic 125 

Mrs. Southey's Tea-Cakes 126 

" More Bacon " 128 

Shelley in Ireland 129 

Shelley in Fishamble Street 136 

Shelley as an Orator 142 

The Shelleys in London 146 

Attempted Assassination of Shelley 150 

*'As Ladies wish to be " 155 

The Would-be Suicide 159 

Nakedizing 161 

'' Let us sit upon the Ground " 162 

Shelleyan Dinners 163 

"Poor Matilda" 168 

Dread of Elephantiasis 168 

Taken for his Friend 171 

Expected at Dinner 172 

Ianthe Eliza Shelley 176 

Bonnet-Shops 177 

"Mary!" "Shelley" . 179 



CONTENTS. ix 

PAGE 

Field Place ^79 

Grove's Recollections of Shelley 183 

The Godwins 187 

Harriet Shelley 19^ 

Miss Jane Clairmont 205 

Wordsworth's Opinion of Shelley 207 

Mr. Williams's Description of Shelley .... 211 

*• Come in, Shelley " 214 

Shelley's Influence on Byron 216 

The Snake . 221 

Shelley's Aversion to Company 224 

Shelley and Byron Contrasted 225 

Shelley not a Swimmer 226 

Shelley's Forgetfulness 228 

The Pine Forest of Pisa 229 

Shelley's Dramatic Aspirations 234 

How Shelley impressed Strangers 235 

Shelley on the San Spiridione 236 

Shelley and the American Mate 237 

Shelley and his Literary Brethren 239 

Resolves to Build a Boat 240 

Shelley's House on the Gulf of Spezzia .... 241 

Habits of Shelley and Byron 242 

The New Toy 243 

Letters to Trelawny 245 

Shelley's Seamanship 247 

Shelley, Byron and the Hunts 249 

Row v/ith Soldiers 252 

That Fatal and Perfidious Bark 253 

The Bodies Found 256 

The Two Widows 257 



CONTENTS. 




PAGR 



Disposition' OF Shelley's Remains ....•• ^5' 
Preparations for the Burning ^^9 

^ ■ ... 260 

Opening the Grave 

262 

The Burning of Williams 

. 262 

The Burning of Shelle\ 

265 

Shelley's Grave 

, T^ . . 267 

Raising Shelley s Boat . . • 

Byron's Shabbiness to Mrs. Shelley 

Mrs. Shelley's Journal ^ ^ 




ILLUSTRATIONS. 



PAGE 



Portrait of Shelley Facing title-page. 

Portrait of Byron 218 

Fac-simile of Shelley's Handwriting 12 



Fac s'unih of SlcUcy'^s haiuhuriUng^ 




* Laon and Cythna^^ Canto ix. 



PREFACE. 




PF all the poets who have illustrated the Literature 
of England, there is no one whose life presents 
so many difficulties to the biographer as Percy 
Bysshe Shelley. Every poet, even the humblest, differs in 
some respects from the majority of mankind, — at any rate, 
he is more impressionable than his prosaic brethren, and 
more easily influenced by the spirit which possesses him. 
The outward facts of his life are easily ascertained, and 
their arrangement in an orderly manner requires no great 
skill. What requires the greatest skill is the detection and 
interpretation of the spiritual facts of his life, the motives 
which actuated him, which guided hun to goodness, and 
which drove him to evil ; the angelic impulses by which he 
soared, the demoniac impulses by which he sank, — in a 
word, the thorough understanding of his heart, his mind, his 
genius. The ideal poetic biographer, when he comes, will 
be a poet who is more than a poet. He does not exist at 
present. What does exist is the average biographer, whose 
self-imposed mission is to convince his readers that his hero 
was either the best or worst of men. Yesterday he was Dr. 
Griswold, to-day he is Mr. Ingram, to-morrow he will be 
— who ? It is difficult to say who in the case of Shelley, 



XIV PREFACE, 

whose life, which has been written many times, still remains 
to be written. He was one of the most extraordinary men 
that ever walked the earth, so extraordinary, 1 thmk, that 
Shakespeare alone could have plucked out the heart of his 
mystery. He led at all times a dual life, and at most times 
a life of contradictions. To say that he was eccentric is 
to say nothing. He was as much out of place in this world 
as a being of another world would be, and he moved among 
its men and women like some strange creature of the ele- 
ments. He neither understood himself, nor was understood 
by others, or at most by very few. The saintly Byron was 
warned against him by the clique in Murray's back parlor; 
but Byron defended him — after he was dead. He had a pas- 
sion for reforming the world, and the world never wants to 
be reformed. Of course, it was too strong for him — the 
many are always too strong for the one. He learned the 
lesson which he states so tersely : 

** Most wretched men 
Are cradled into poetry by wrong : 
They learn in suffering what they teach in song." 

If the history of the Shelleys could be written in full, we 
might know what ancestor was repeated by this immortal 
member of the family. He seems to have inherited elope- 
ment from his grandfather, Sir Bysshe, w^ho eloped with two 
of his wives, and who is said to have been born in Newark, 
New Jersey, and to have practised there as a quack doctor. 
There is a story of an American wife, the authority for 
which is Shelley himself, who said that his grandfather be- 
haved badly to tJwee wives. An early Shelley figures in the 
Star Chamber Reports about two hundred and fifty years 
ago. There was a woman in his case, and she appeared to 
have entrapped him. At any rate, somebody was thought 
to have entrapped him, and several somebodies were pun- 



PREFACE. XV 

ished for it. They were all sent to the Fleet, and one Rid- 
ley, the parson who married him in the night time, without 
license or banns, was fined five hundred pounds, and left to 
the High Commission Court. Mrs. Ridley was let off with 
a fine of ten pounds. Barton, who gave the woman away, 
was fined one hundred pounds, and Godfrey and his wife, 
who kept an ale-house, where some of the party were drink- 
ing a great part of the service-time on Sunday, were de- 
barred from ever keeping an inn or ale-house. Who was 
she ? asked the old alcalde. Two shes are mentioned in 
this story, both named Margaret, one a daughter of Sir Sig- 
ismund Zinzen, alias Alexander, the other a daughter of one 
Lineham, whose son Henry made Master Shelley drunk, 
and after supper persuaded him, to marry his sister Marga- 
ret, at the house of the above-mentioned Godfrey, on Palm 
Sunday. Parson Ridley, according to this version of the 
story, was fined three hundred pounds ; but as ]ie showed 
that he married young Shelley, who was not seventeen, at 
his own request, it is to be presumed that he was let off with 
a reprimand. This little episode of William and Margaret 
was repeated nearly two hundred years later by Percy and 
Harriet, without the excuse of drunkenness on the part of 
Percy. Mr. Galton might make something out of this in a 
new edition of his work on hereditary transmission ; / 
humbly add it to the ever-increasing cairn of Shelleyana. 

There are abundant materials for a Life of Shelley, but 
they are so contradictory on some points, and so perplexing 
on others, that it is difficult to know what to accept and 
what to reject. Every biography that I have read appears 
to have been written under a bias, and that of Lady Shelley 
under the strongest of all. Her ** Shelley Memorials," 
which was originally published in 1859, omitted an impor- 
tant fact in the life of Shelley, — a fact which was brought to 



xvi PREFACE. 

light by one of his early friends within a few months after 
the publication of her volume, — a fact which cannot have 
escaped her notice, but which she has kept her readers ig- 
norant of for more than sixteen years. This fact, which 
was disinterred from a Church Register by Mr. Thomas 
Love Peacock, is Shelley's second marriage to his first 
wife about four months before his elopement with Mary 
Godwin. Lady Shelley suppressed this damaging fact, and 
by so doing laid herself open to — is it too much to say — 
the charge of literary dishonesty ? It has been known to 
the world since January, i860, when it was published by 
Mr. Peacock in Fraser's Magazine^ but it is not known to- 
day to the little world of Lady Shelley's readers. Mr. Rich- 
ard Garnett, who published in 1862 a little book entitled 
** Shelley Relics," and who writes with the Shelley bias, 
calls it a formal re-marriage, and says practically that it is 
devoid of importance. I cannot agree with him. It was 
certainly of importance to Harriet Shelley, who was obliged 
to return to her father's roof, where she soon became a 
mother for the second time. Mr^ Garnett refers to certain 
mysterious documents in the possession of Shelley's family, ^ 
and Lady Shelley, in the Preface to the third edition of her 
volume, published in 1875, harps on the same string. The 
time has not yet arrived, she thinks, when facts should be 
disclosed ; she feels confident that the more there is really 
known, the more all mists of false aspersion and misconcep- 
tion will clear away from Shelley's memory ; that the wishes 
of the dead are obeyed in keeping silence on all beyond 
what she has told, and so on. This is womanly writing, but 
it is not biographical writing. Lady Shelley's first great 
mistake, according to her i)oint of view, was in placing 
Shelley documents in the hands of Mr. Thomas Jefi"erson 
Hogg, whose '' Life " of Shelley was published a year before 



PREFACE, xvii 

her " Memorials." It was a mistake, but no reader of Shel- 
ley can wish that it had not been committed. We know 
him through Hogg's curious volumes, as we could not have 
known him in any other biography, and as Lady Shelley 
would not have us know him at all. She could not im- 
agine how they could have been produced from the mate- 
rials furnished by Shelley's family. They were shocked,^ 
astonished, dismayed, at Hogg's fantastic caricature, and 
they withdrew the documents they had entrusted to him, 
and which he had so strangely misused. Their feeling was 
natural, but the mischief was done, and could not be un- 
done. I, for one, do not wish it undone, for I believe that 
Hogg's portrait of Shelley is the vera effigies of the erratic 
young gentleman whom he knew in his own erratic youth. 
There was another Shelley, but it was only dimly perceived 
at the time by his porcine friend, who, 1 think, really ad- 
mired him in his grim, caustic way. 1 see nothing in his 
Memoir of the Divine Poet which should have shocked his 
family, but many things which should have amused them, 
as they did the world. We cannot judge for others, how- 
ever, especially when they claim that they alone have the 
greatest right to form an opinion on so puzzling a subject 
as the character of Shelley. With all its defects, Hogg's 
truncated book, as Mr. Rossetti calls it, is an invaluable rec- 
ord of Shelley's early career, and is a masterly example of 
eccentric biography. 

The portrait of another Shelley, — the Shelley whom hisj 
admirers believe to be the only true one, — was sketched in 
the same year as the alleged caricature of Hogg's, 1858, by 
the skilful and loving pencil of Captain E. J. Trelawny, in 
his " Recollections of the Last Days of Shelley and Byron." 
Trelawny's Shelley is to me Hogg's Shelley, ripened by 
eight years of thought, and sorrow, and happiness, into the 



xviil PREFACE, 

most gentle and the most courageous of human beings. He 
was a complete foil to Byron, whose Christianity, what 
was left of it, was not to be named on the same day with 
his supposed Atheism, and whose conduct of life was as bad 
as his was good. He was much wiser than the Pilgrim 
of Eternity, whose genius he stimulated to its most daring 
flights, and whom he sought to better, as he did the world, 
though neither would be bettered, in his way. 

These two portraits, alter et idein^ are transferred to this 
volume, somewhat corrected, if I may be allowed the ex- 
pression, by the side-lights of other memoirs. The most 
important, to the students of Shelley, is '' Shelley's Early 
Life from Original Sources," by Mr. Denis Elorence Mac- 
Carthy ; Peacock's papers in Fraser' s Magazine (i^^^-6o)^ 
which are reprinted in the third volume of his '' Works " 
(London, 1875) ; the Rev. C. Kegan Paul's '^William God- 
win, his Friends and Contemporaries" (London, 1876), and 
the Memoir prefixed to his edition of Shelley's ''Poetical 
Works" (London, 1870), by Mr. William Michael Rossetti. 
Besides these, I should mention Thomas Medwin's '' Life 
of Shelley" (London, 1847), which is a mass of inaccura- 
cies, and Charles S. Middleton's '' Shelley and His Writ- 
ings" (London, 1858), which is merely a compilation from 
earlier biographies. What I have drawn from these sources 
will generally be found in foot-notes, though I have occa- 
sionally introduced passages into what I have written, 
which is distinguished from the rest of the text by its in clo- 
sure of brackets. To characterize these writings and their 
writers, I should say that Mr. Rossetti was the most thor- 
ough, Mr. Mac-Carthy the most acute, and Mr. Pearock the 
most satisfactory. The Irish episode in Shelley's early 
career was never thoroughly told until Mr. Mac-Carthy told 
it ; and the cause of one long separation between Hog^ 



PREFACE. 



XIX 



and Shelley was never understood until he obtained the 
clue to it. It was — but the curious reader must go to his 
volume, for I am not going to spread any scandal about 
Queen Elizabeth at this late day. Mr. Mac-Carthy clears 
up one point which I had often mooted, viz., Shelley's ac- 
quaintance with Leigh Hunt. It did not begin so early as 
Hunt would have us believe, — certainly not while he was 
imprisoned for calling the Prince Regent ^^ a fat Adonis of 
fifty/' or words to that effect ; and its utmost duration was 
about six years, only two of which were passed by Shelley 
in England. He was a princely friend to Hunt, as he ac- 
knowledges in his " Autobiography," and once made him a 
present of fourteen hundred pounds, to extricate him from 
a debt. " I was not extricated, for I had not yet learned 
to be careful," Hunt naively adds, ^^ but the shame of not 
being so, after such generosity, and the pain which my friend 
afterward underwent, when I was in trouble and he was 
helpless, were the first causes of my thinking of money mat- 
ters to any purpose." Which is precisely what Leontius 
never did. It was happy go lucky with him all his life, and 
down to the day of his death he was a Shelley pensioner. 

Shelley was the most subjective of poets, but he rose at 
times to high objective art, as in ^^The Cenci," and in por- 
tions of " Adonais." His portrait of himself is a beautiful 
example of poetic characterization : 

** A pard-like Spirit, beautiful and swift — 

A love in desolation masked ; — a Power 

Girt round with weakness ; it can scarce uplift 

The weight of the superincumbent hour; 

It is a dying lamp, a falling shower, 

A breaking billow ; — even while we speak 

Is it not broken ? On the withering flower 

The killing sun smiles brightly ; on a cheek 
The life can burn in blood, even while the heart may break. 



XX PREFACE. 

*' His head was bound with pansies, over-blown, 

And faded violets, white, and pied, and blue ; 

And a light spear topped with a cypress cone. 

Round whose rude sheft dark ivy-tresses grew 

Yet dripping with the forest's noon-day dew, 

Vibrated, as the ever-beating heart 

Shook the weak hand that grasped it ; of that crew 

He came the last, neglected and apart, 
A herd-abandoned deer, struck by the hunter's dart. 

*' All stood aloof, and at his partial moan 

Smiled through their tears ; well knew that gentle band 

Who in another's fate now wept his own ; 

As in the accents of an unknown land 

He sang new sorrow ; sad Urania scanned 

The Stranger's mien, and murmured, * Who art thou ? ' 

He answered not, but with a sudden hand 

Made bare his branded and ensanguined brow. 
Which was like Cain's or Christ's. Oh, that I should be so! " 

Fifty-four years have passed since his death, and the 
verdict of his contemporaries concerning his poetry has 
been reversed. His name, execrated in his lifetime, stands 
now among the great names of English Literature. Pre- 
cisely what place he will finally fill will be settled by a more 
distant posterity than this. In his own day he seemed to write 
for antiquity, as Lamb quaintly said of himself. Lamb, by 
the way, did not understand Shelley, whose poetry, he wrote 
Bernard Barton, was thin-sown with profit or delight. '^ For 
his theories and nostrums, they are oracular enough, but I 
either comprehend 'em not, or there is * minching mallecho,' 
and mischief in 'em, but, for the most part, ringing with their 
own emptiness. Hazlitt said well of 'em, ^Many are 
the wiser or better for reading Shakespeare, but nobody 
was ever wiser or better for reading Shelley.' " Hazlitt' s 
opinions of his contemporaries were as worthless as his 



PREFACE. xxi 

strong prejudices could make them. Macaulay, I think, 
sums up Shelley fairly : " We doubt whether any modern 
poet has possessed in an equal degree the highest quaHties 
of the great ancient masters. The words bard and inspira- 
tion, which seem so cold and affected when applied to other 
modern writers, have a perfect propriety when applied to 
him. He was not an author, but a bard. His poetry 
seems not to have been an art, but an inspiration. Had 
he lived to the full age of man, he might not improbably 
have given to the world some great work of the very high- 
est rank in design and execution." 

There is but one portrait of Shelley, and that was painted 
by Miss Curran, a daughter of the Irish statesman, who was 
rather an amateur than an artist. It was taken in Rome 
in 1819, when he was about twenty-seven, and is now in 
the possession of his son, Sir Percy Shelley at Boscombe. 
Mr. Rossetti has jotted down the impression it made upon 
him when he saw it in 1868, in the Exhibition of National 
Portraits at South Kensington. " Small life-size ; age about 
nineteen ; plain green background ; waved hair, dark or 
darkening brown ; complexion fair, but as if a good deal 
exposed to air, giving a rather coppery-red hue ; eyes quite 
a dark-blue ; mouth entrouvert^ with a kind of curl of 
aspiration and apprehending ; open shirt ; blue coat ; quill 
in hand ; left not seen. Gives a decided impression of a 
poet, and the bad qualities of the picture are not of an 
offensive kind ; flat, broad painting, very slight, but not 
thin." Mulready, the painter, who knew Shelley well, he 
adds, declared that it was simply impossible to paint his 
portrait — he was *' too beautiful." 

From the many portraits of Byron, I have selected for 
this volume the one which was painted by T. Holmes. 
Byron sat for it in 18 15, when he was about Shelley's age, 



XXll 



PREFACE. 



twenty-seven. He was at the height of his fame and hap- 
piness ; for had he not published tw^o cantos of *' Childe 
Harold," and the '' Bride of Abydos," and '' The Corsair " ? 
And had he not lately won the hand of that rich heiress, 
and very superior woman, Miss Milbanke ? He was very 
beautiful at the time, if we may trust this portrait as a 
faithful likeness. Byron pinned his own faith to it in the 
following letter to the artist : 

* ** Genoa, May igih^ 1823. 

" My dear Sir : I will thank you very much to present 
to or obtain for the bearer a print from the miniature you 
drew of me in 1815. I prefer that likeness to any which 
has been done of me by any artist whatever. My sister, 
Mrs. Leigh, or the Honorable Douglas Kinnaird, will pay. 
you the price of the engraving. Ever yours, 

" Noel Byron." 

The only copy of the print that I have ever seen was 
published on September t, 1835, by F. G. Moon, printseller 
to the King, 20 Threadneedle street, from the original in 
the possession of the Honorable Mrs. Leigh. 

R. H. S. 



PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 




Shelley's Childhood. 

alERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY was born at Field 
Place, near Horsham, in the county of Sussex, on 
Saturday, the 4th of August, 1792. 

His father was Timothy Shelley ; his mother, a 
lady of rare beauty, Elizabeth, the daughter of Charles Pilfold, 
Esquire. They were married in the year 1791, and of this 
union their eldest son, Percy Bysshe, was the first child. The 
poet had four sisters ; Elizabeth, Mary, Hellen, and Margaret, 
all of whom lived to be distinguished for remarkable beauty, 
so that it was frequently observed, " very few famiUes indeed 
can boast four such handsome girls 1 " He had only one 
brother, John, the youngest child. 

Of the earliest infancy, the babyhood, of the wonderful child 
we know nothing. As a boy he was gentle, affectionate, intel- 
ligent, amiable ; ever loving, and universally beloved. 

His relatives have supplied interesting details. To give these 
just as they were received, will be a better illustration of the 
truth of things than a re-arrangement and classification of 
facts would afford. 

My DEAREST J., [Nov., 1856.] 

At this distant period I can scarcely remember my first 
impressions of Bysshe, but he would frequently come to the 
nursery and was full of a peculiar kind of pranks. One piece 
of mischief, for which he was rebuked, was running a stick 



3 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, 

through the ceiling of a low passage to find some new 
chamber, which could be made effective for some flights 
of his vivid imagination. The tales, to which we have sat and 
listened, evening after evening, seated on his knee, when we 
came to the dining-room for dessert, were anticipated with that 
pleasing dread, which so excites the minds of children, and 
fastens so strongly and indelibly on the memory. There was a 
spacious garret under the roof of Field Place, and a room, 
which had been closed for years, excepting an entrance made 
by the removal of a board in the garret floor. This unknown 
land was made the fancied habitation of an Alchemist, old and 
grey, with a long beard. Books and a lamp, with all the attri- 
butes of a picturesque fancy, were poured into our listening 
ears. We were to go and see him "' some day ; " but we were 
content to wait, and a cave was to be dug in the orchard for 
the better accommodation of this Cornelius Agrippa. Another 
favorite theme was the '' Great Tortoise,"* that lived in Warn- 
ham Pond ; and any unwonted noise was accounted for by the 
presence of this great beast, which was made into the fanciful 
proportions most adapted to excite awe and wonder. 

Bysshe was certainly fond of eccentric amusements, but 
they delighted us, as children, quite as much as if our minds 
had been naturally attuned to the same tastes ; for we dressed 
ourselves in strange costumes to personate spirits, or fiends, 
and Bysshe would take a fire-stove and fill it with some inflam- 
mable liquid and carry it flaming into the kitchen and to the 
back-door ; but discovery of this dangerous amusement soon 
put a stop to many repetitions. When my brother commenced 

* [I never heard Shelley mention the *' Great Tortoise," but he spoke often of the 
** Great Old Snake." It was a snake of unusual magnitude, which had inhabited the 
garden at b'ield Place for several generations, and which, according to tradition, had 
been known, as the ** Old Snake," three hundred years ago. It was killed, accident- 
ally, through the carelessness of the gardener, in mowing the grass : killed by the 
same fatal instrument with which the universal destroyer, Time, kills ever>' thing be- 
sides, — by that two-handed engine, the scythe. There is so strong an affinity between 
serpents and all imaginative and demoniacal characters, that I cannot but regret to 
have entirely forgotten the legends of the "Old Snake ;" narratives perfectly true, 
no doubt, — not with the common -place truth of ordinary matters of fact, but with the 
far higher truth of poetical verity' and mythological necessity. — H.] 



SHELLEY'S CHILDHOOD, 3 

his studies in chemistry, and practised electricity upon us, I 
confess my pleasure in it was entirely negatived by terror at 
its effects. Whenever he came to me with his piece of folded 
brown packing-paper under his arm, and a bit of wire and a 
bottle (if I remember right) my heart would sink with fear at 
his approach ; but shame kept me silent, and, with as many 
others as he could collect, we were placed hand-in-hand round 
the nursery table to be electrified ; but when a suggestion was 
made that chilblains were to be cured by this means, my terror 
overwhelmed all other feelings, and the expression of it 
released me from all future annoyance. I have heard that 
Bysshe's memory was singularly retentive. Even as a little 
child, Gray's lines on the Cat and the Gold Fish were repeated, 
word for word, after once reading ; a fact I have frequently 
heard from my mother. He used, at my father's bidding, to 
repeat long Latin quotations, probably from some drama ; for 
he would act, and the expression of his face and movement of 
his arms are distinct recollections, though the subject of his 
declamations was a sealed book to his infant hearers. Poor 
fellow ! Why did he not live fifty years later : when he would 
have been assisted by the wonderful improvements of the age 
in directing his gifted and inquisitive mind ? 

My DEAREST Jane, 

The tranquillity of our house must have frequently been 
rudely invaded by experiments, for, on one occasion, on the 
morning our Poet and experimentalist left home (for Eton, 
probably), the washing-room was discovered to have been 
filled with smoke, by a fire in the grate with the valve closed ; 
the absence of draught had probably prevented mischief, but 
much was made of this accident, probably to deter any admir- 
ing imitators ; and there might have been circumstances con- 
nected with it relating to chemical preparations, which did not 
reach us. My younger brother, John, was a child in petticoats, 
when I remember Bysshe playing with him under the fir-trees 
on the lawn, pushing him gently down to let him rise and beg 
for a succession of such falls, rolling with laughing glee on the 



4 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 

grass ; then, as a sequel to this game, the little carriage was 
drawn through the garden walks at the rate a big boy could 
draw a little one, and in an unfortunate turn the carriage was 
upset, and the occupant tossed into the cabbages, or straw- 
berry bed. Screams, of course, brought sympathetic aid, and, 
though the child was unhurt, the boy was rebuked ; and when 
the former was brought down after dinner, in the nurse's arms, 
^^ Bit," (Bysshe) was apostrophised as a culprit. His great 
delight was to teach his infant brother schoolboy words, and 
his first attempt at his knowledge of the devil, was an inno- 
cent " Debbee ! '' 

My dearest Jane, 

I feel more confidence in writing when I commence a page, 
as I have now done ; and after having talked over the small 
things we remember of our brother, I place them on paper 
without chronological order ; for you will readily believe that to 
me it would be impossible, as I do not remember even seeing 
him after I was eleven years of age. I went to school before 
Margaret, so that she recollects how Bysshe came home in the 
midst of the half-year to be nursed ; and when he was allowed 
to leave the house, he came to the dining-room window, and 
kissed her through the pane of glass. She remembers his face 
there, with nose and lips pressed against the window, and at 
that time she must have been about five years old. In the 
holidays he would walk with us, if he could steal away with us ; 
and on one occasion he walked with us through the fields to 
Strood ; where, in those days, there was a park stile, to 
encourage good neighborhood : there was a sunk fence to 
divide the lawn from the meadows, and gates were despised, 
where difficulty would augment the pleasure ; and we were 
assisted up this perpendicular wall. I was big enough to be 
pulled over, but Margaret was gently thrown across on the 
grass. Our shoes were sadly soiled, and the little one of the 
party was tired, and required carrying ; but she was to be 
careful to hold her feet so that the trousers might not be 
damaged. This trait does not seem characteristic, but it is 



SHELLEY'S CHILDHOOD. 5 

nevertheless true ; and subsequently, Bysshe ordered clothes 
according to his own fancy at Eton, and the beautifully fitting 
silk pantaloons, as he stood, as almost all men and boys do, 
with their coat tails near the fire, excited my silent, though 
excessive admiration. 

My dearest Jane, 

I meant in my last letter to have given you an illustration 
of Bysshe^s boyish traits of imagination, but flew off to a later 
period. On one occasion he gave the most minute details of a 
visit he had paid to some ladies, with whom he was acquainted 
at our village : he described their reception of him, their occu- 
pations, and the wandering in their pretty garden, where there 
was a well-remembered filbert-walk and an undulating turf- 
bank, the delight of our morning visit. There must have been 
something peculiar in this little event, for I have often heard 
it mentioned as a singular fact, and it was ascertained almost 
immediately, that the boy had never been to the house. It 
was not considered as a falsehood to be punished ; but, I 
imagine, his conduct altogether must have been so little under- 
stood, and unlike that of the generality of children, that these 
tales were left unnoticed. He was, at a later period, in the 
habit of walking out at night, and the prosaic minds of ordi- 
nary mortals could not understand the pleasure to be derived 
from contemplating the stars, when he probably was repeating 
to himself lines, which were so soon to astonish those, who 
looked on him as a boy. The old servant of the family would 
follow him, and say, that ^* Master Bysshe only took a walk, 
and came back again." He was full of cheerful fun, and had 
all the comic vein so agreeable in a household : details of this 
kind would be trifling in many instances : but, as a child at 
school, I remember some verses, that were sent by him to one 
of my elder sisters, illustrating something unfavorable to a 
French teacher, who was accused of being fond of those pupils, 
who could supply her with fruit and cakes. I believe it was 
clever, for the sisters were proud enough of it to be imprudent, 
and by some means it became known to Madame^ and I can 



6 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, 

just remember the commotion it made and the ^S^ery bold 
boy our broder must be." I have somewhere in my possession 
a very early effusion of Bysshe's, with a cat painted on the top 
of the sheet. I will try and find it ; but there is no promise of 
future excellence in the lines, the versification is defective. 
At one time, he, with my eldest sister, wrote a play secretly, 
and sent it to Matthews, the comedian ; who, after a time, 
returned it, with the opinion, that it would not do for acting. 
I wonder, whether Matthews knew the age of the boy and girl, 
who ventured upon wTiting a play. The subject was never 
known to me ; and most likely, the youthful authors made a 
good blaze with the ]\1S. 

My dearest Jane, 

Every one has heard of Mrs. Hemans, if they have not 
read her poetry. She published a large volume, when quite a 
girl and Miss Browne. Early talent attracted Bysshe's admi- 
ration and sympathy : he wrote to Miss Felicia Dorothea 
Browne, and he received an answer, but it was to an effect 
which gave no encouragement to farther correspondence : and 
he w^as probably disappointed, as all young, ardent, and 
admiring spirits would be in such a case. He fancied that I 
might, with encouragement, write verses, and his first lesson 
to me, I perfectly remember. Monk Lewis's Poems had a 
great attraction for him, and any tale of spirits, fiends, etc., 
seemed congenial to his taste at an early age. I w^as so young, 
that I really can remiember nothing of the verses I made, 
farther than to give you as a sample of them : — 

"There was an old woman, as I have heard say. 
Who worked metamorphoses every day." 

— and these two lines are probably left in my memory, because 
Bysshe expressed so much astonishment at my knowledge of 
the word inetaiftorp hoses. There were several short poems, I 
think, of which he gave me the subject ; and one line about 
*^ an old woman in her bony gown," (even the rhyme to which 
line I forget), elicited the praise for which I wrote. Subse- 



SHELLEY'S CHILDHOOD, 7 

quently he had them printed, and a mistake I made about 
sending one of my heroes, or heroines, out by night and day in 
the same stanza, he would not alter, but excused it by quoting 
something from Shakespeare. When I saw my name on the 
title-page '^ H — 11 — n Sh — 11 — y," I felt much more frightened 
than pleased, and as soon as the publication was seen by my 
superiors, it was bought up and destroyed. I should not 
think there could have been anything in it worth either keeping 
or destroying, but it will tend to show, that my brother was full 
of pleasant attention to children, though his mind was so far 
above theirs. He had a wish to educate some child, and often 
talked seriously of purchasing a little girl for that purpose ; a 
tumbler, who came to the back door to display her wonderful 
feats, attracted him, and he thought she would be a good subject 
for the purpose, but all these wild fancies came to naught. He 
would take his pony and ride about the beautiful lanes and 
fields surrounding the house, and would talk of his intention, 
but he did not consider that board and lodging would be indis- 
pensable, and this difficulty, probably, was quite sufficient to 
prevent the talk from becoming reality. 

My dearest Jane, 

I think you have heard me mention a few things concern- 
ing Bysshe, which may only be interesting to you, and me, and 
two or three others ; for when I write about him, whose poems 
and writings, and attainments, which were never known to the 
world in all their wonderful profusion, I feel that my anecdotes 
are scarcely indicative of his character ; but you remember 
that my knowledge of Bysshe ended at ten years of age, and 
probably the last time I saw him was at Clapham, where we 
were at school, and he came occasionally to see us, and ask 
questions about our comfort. One day his ire was greatly 
excited at a black mark hung round one of our throats, as a 
penalty for some small misdemeanor. He expressed great dis- 
approbation, more of the system than that one of his sisters 
should be so punished. Another time he found me, I think, 
in an iron collar, which certainly was a dreadful instrument of 



8 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 

torture in my opinion. It was not worn as a punishment, but 
because \ poked ; but Bysshe declared it would make me grow 
crooked, and ought to be discontinued immediately. The old 
lady who kept the school, would not, I believe, have hurt one 
of her pupils for any amount of approbation, so that she was 
not likely to continue an objectionable practice, if boldly dis- 
approved of, and I was released forthwith. He came once 
with the elders of the family, and Harriet Grove, his early 
love, was of the party : how fresh and pretty she was ! Her 
assistance was invoked to keep the wild boy quiet, for he was 
full of pranks, and upset the port wine on the tray cloth, for 
our schoolmistress was hospitable, and had offered refresh- 
ments ; then we all walked in the garden, and there was much 
ado to calm the spirits of the wild boy. His disappointment 
a few years afterwards, in losing the lady of his love, had a 
great effect upon him ; and my eldest sister has frequently told 
me how narrowly she used to watch him and accompany him 
in his walks with his dog and gun. I believe this matter has 
been discussed amongst others, probably with little knowledge 
of the truth. It was not put an end to by mutual consent ; 
but both parties were very young, and her father did not think 
the marriage would be for his daughter's happiness. He, how- 
ever, with truly honorable feeling, would not have persisted in 
his objection, if his daughter had considered herself bound by 
a promise to my brother, but this was not the case, and time 
healed the wound, by means of another Harriet, whose name 
and similar complexion, perhaps, attracted the attention of my 
brother. I do not consider any details of a later date would 
be in my province, for I only know his history as I have been 
told it. 

My dearest Jane, 

I began my last letter intending to tell you of a morning's 
event. As we were sitting in the little breakfast room our eyes 
were attracted by a countryman passing the window with a 
truss of hay on a prong over his shoulders ; the intruder was 
wondered at and called after, when it was discovered that 



SHELLEY'S CHILDHOOD, g 

Bysshe had put himself in costume to take some hay to a 
young lady at Horsham, who was advised to use hay-tea for 
chilblains. When visitors were announced during his visit to 
the vicar's daughter, he concealed himself under the table, 
but the concealment did not probably last long. We have 
lately been on a visit to Cuckfield Park, and it was singular 
enough that our host, without having heard this story, men- 
tioned his single recollection of having once, when quite a little 
boy, seen Bysshe, who came to his uncle. Colonel Sergison, 
whilst on a visit to his lawyer in Horsham, and asked, in Sussex 
language, to be hired as gamekeeper's boy. My informant 
thought his suit was successful, and then, of course, there was 
an explosion of laughter. I remember incidents, but nothing 
that either preceded or followed them, connectedly. My 
reminiscences must necessarily be limited to a few early years, 
for the tales of others, with regard to my brother, do not ap- 
pear to me truthful. I read of his discordant voice and stoop- 
ing figure, and I think excitement, in one case, and deep 
thinking in another, might have made this true in a measure ; 
but, as I remember Bysshe, his figure was slight and beautiful, 
his hands were models, and his feet are treading the earth 
again in one of his race ; his eyes, too, have descended in 
their wild, fixed beauty to the same person. As a child, I 
have heard that his skin was like snow, and bright ringlets 
covered his head. He was, I have heard, a beautiful boy. His 
old nurse lived, within the last two or three years, at Horsham. 
One of the curates there — a Mr. Du Barry — was a great admirer 
of my brother's poetry, and we were able, through him, to 
remind her of those years, when she used to come regularly 
every Christmas to Field Place, to receive a substantial proof 
that she was not to be forgotten, though her nurse-child was 
gone from earth, forever. 

My dearest Jane, 

I have just found the lines which I mentioned ; a child's 
effusion about some cat, which evidently had a story, but it 
must have been before I can remember. It is in Elizabeth's 



10 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, 

hand-writing, copied probably later than the composition of the 
lines, though the hand-writing is unformed. It seems to be a 
tabby cat, for it has an indistinct, brownish-gray coat. 
I have not painted it for you : — 

A cat in distress, 

Nothing more, nor less ; 
Good folks, I must faithfully tell ye. 

As I am a sinner, 

It waits for some dinner 
To stuff out its own litde belly. 

You would not easily guess 

All the modes of distress 
Which torture the tenants of earth ; 

And the various evils, 

Which like so many de\41s. 
Attend the poor souls from their birth. 

Some a living require. 

And others desire 
An old fellow out of the way ; 

And which is the best 

I leave to be guessed. 
For I cannot pretend to say. 

One wants society'. 

Another variety'. 
Others a tranquil life ; 

Some want food^ 

Others, as good, 
Only want a wife. 

But this poor little cat 

Only wanted a rat. 
To stuff out its own Httle maw ; 

And it were as good 

Some people had such food, 
To make them hold their j'a^u ! 

That last expression is, I imagine, still classical at boys' 
schools, and it was a favorite one of Bysshe's, which I remem- 
ber from a painful fact, that one of my sisters ventured to 
make use of it, and was punished in some old-fashioned way, 
which impressed the sentence on my memory. 

H ELLEN. 



SHELLEY'S CHILDLLOOD, 1 1 

At ten years of age Shelley was sent to Sion House, Brent- 
ford. In walking with him to Bishopsgate from London, he 
pointed out to me, more than once, a gloomy brick-house, as 
being this school. He spoke of the master, Dr. Greenlaw, 
not without respect, saying, ^'he was a hard-headed Scotch- 
man, and a man of rather liberal opinions." Of this period 
of his life he never gave me an account ; nor have I heard or 
read any details, which appeared to bear the impress of truth. 
How long he remained at Sion House I know not ; nor at what 
age he was removed to Eton. 

My dearest Jane, 

I remember well how he used to sing to us ; he could not 
bear any turns or twists in music, but liked a tune played 
quite simply. 

About Miss Westbrook ; I recollect hearing Bysshe married 
her, because her name was Harriet. She was not a person 
likely to attach him permanently ; I remember her well ; a 
very handsome girl, with a complexion quite unknown in these 
days — brilliant in pink and white — with hair quite like a poet's 
dream, and Bysshe's peculiar admiration. 

I should not remember many of her contemporaries, but 
the governess and teachers used to remark upon her beauty ; 
and once I heard them talking together of a possible Fete 
Champetre, and Harriet Westbrook might enact Venus. 

The engraved portraits of Bysshe, which have hitherto been 
published, are frightful pictures for a spiritual-looking being, 
like the poet. Yet I do not expect that my ideal will ever be 
created, because he must have altered from boy to man. His 
forehead was white, the eyes deep blue, — darker than John's. 
He had an eccentric quantity of hair, in those days, when he 
came by stealth to Field Place ; and Elizabeth, on one occa- 
sion, made him sit down to have it cut, and be made to look 
like a Christian. His good temper was a pleasant memory 
always, and I do not recollect an instance of the reverse 
towards any of us. I tell you little things as they pass in my 
mind, and you had better tear them off and paste them in the 



1 2 PER CY B YSSHE SHELLE V. 

book, for I find a difficulty in recalling far-off memories, when 
I set about it as a task, however palatable the task may be. 
There is no life which could bear the test of a detective, and 
Bysshe's faults and feelings were all laid bare by a too great 
moral courage, which made him witness against himself, when 
the rest of his fellow-men conceal their failings, and set their 
virtues only upon high ; for we are all erring mortals. 

Hellen. 

Shelley at Eton. 

While at Eton he formed several sincere friendships ; 
although disliked by the masters, and hated by his superiors 
in age, he was adored by his equals. He was all passion, — 
passionate in his resistance to injury, passionate in his love. 
Kindness could win his whole soul, and the idea of self never 
for a moment tarnished the purity of his sentiments. 

He^'became intimate, also, at Eton, with a man whom he 
never mentioned, except in terms of the tenderest respect. 
This was Dr. Lind, a namd well known among the professors 
of medical science. '' This man," he has often said, ^' is ex- 
actly what an old man ought to be. Free, calm-spirited, full 
of benevolence, and even of youthful ardor ; his eye seemed 
to burn with supernatural spirit beneath his brow, shaded by 
his venerable white locks ; he was tall, vigorous, and healthy 
in his body : tempered, as it had ever been, by his amiable 
mind. I owe to that man far, ah ! far more than I owe to my 
father; he loved me, and I shall never forget our long talks, 
where he breathed the spirit of the kindest tolerance and the 
purest wisdom. Once, when I was very ill during the holidays, 
as I was recovering from a fever which had attacked my brain, 
a servant overheard my father consult about sending me to a 
private madhous3. I was a favorite among all our servants, so 
this fellow came and told me as I lay sick in bed. My horror 
was beyond words, and I might soon have been mad indeed, 
if they had proceeded in their iniquitous plan. I had one 
hope. I was master of three pounds in money, and, with the 



SHELLEY AT ETON. 



13 



servant's help, I contrived to send an express to Dr. Lind. He 
came, and I shtill never forget his manner on that occasion. 
His profession gave him authority ; his love for me ardor. He 
dared my father to execute his purpose, and his menaces had 
the desired effect." 

I relate this in my Shelley's words, for I well remember them. 
I well remember where they were spoken ; it was that night 
that decided my destiny ; when he opened at first with the 
confidence of friendship, and then with the ardor of love, his 
whole heart to me. 

Amongst his other self-sought studies, he was passionately 
attached to the study of what used to be called the occult 
sciences, conjointly with that of the new wonders, which 
chemistry and natural philosophy have displayed to us. His 
pocket money was spent in the purchase of books relative to 
these darling pursuits, — of chemical apparatus and materials. 
The books consisted of treatises on magic and witchcraft, as 
well as those more modern ones detailing the miracles of 
electricity and galvanism. Sometimes he watched the livelong 
nights for ghosts. At his father's house, where his influence 
was, of course, great among the dependants, he even planned 
how he might get admission to the vault, or charnel-house, at 
Warnham Church, and might sit there all night, harrowed by 
fear, yet trembling with expectation, to see one of the spirit- 
ualized owners of the bones piled around him. He consulted 
his books, how to raise a ghost ; and once, at midnight,^ — 
he was then at Eton, — he stole from his dame's house, and, 
quitting the town, crossed the fields towards a running 
stream. As he walked along the pathway amidst the long 
grass, he heard it rustle behind him ; he dared not look back ; 
he felt convinced that the devil followed him ; he walked fast, 
and held tight the skull, the prescribed assistant of his incan- 
tations. 

When he had crossed the field he felt less fearful, for the 
grass no longer rustled, so the devil no longer followed him. 
He came to some of the many beautiful clear streams near 
Eton, and sought for one which he could bestride Colossus- 



14 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 

like ; * then, standing thus, he repeated his charm, and drank 
thrice from the skull. No ghost appeared, but for the credit 
of glamor-books, he did not doubt that the incantation failed 
from some mistake of his own. It was useless to repeat it that 
night. Very probably the human skull was wanting, a tumbler,, 
or mug supplying its place, but inadequately, and therefore 
the youthful enchanter was baffled. 

Shelley had several attached friends at Eton ; I will insert 
the kind testimonial of one of them, because it is equally 
creditable to both the friends : 

My dear jMADAM, Glenthome, i^^^r^^^ry 27M, 1857. 

Your letter has taken me back to the sunny time of boy- 
hood, '' when thought is speech, and speech is truth ; " when I 
was the friend and companion of Shelley at Eton. What 
brought us together in that small world was, I suppose, kindred 
feehngs, and the predominance of fancy and imagination. 
Many a long and happy walk have I had with him in the beau- 
tiful neighborhood of dear old Eton. We used to wander for 
hours about Clewer, Frogmore, the Park at W^indsor, the 
Terrace ; and I was a delighted and willing listener to his 
marvellous stories of fairy-land, and apparitions, and spirits, 
and haunted ground ; and his speculations were then (for his 
mind was far more developed than mine) of the world beyond 
the grave. Another of his favorite rambles was Stoke Park, 
and the picturesque churchyard, where Gray is said to have 
wTitten his Elegy, of which he was very fond. I was myself 
far too young to form any estimate of character, but I loved 
Shelley for his kindliness and affectionate ways: he was not 
made to endure the rough and boisterous pastime at Eton, and 
his shy and gentle nature was glad to escape far away to muse 
over strange fancies, for his mind was reflective and teeming 
with deep thought. His lessons were child's play to him, and 
his power of Latin versification marvellous. I think I remem- 

* No devil, ghost, or spirit, can cross running water (this superstition may have 
some reference to the rite of baptism) ; it is prudent, therefore, in all dealings with 
demons, to have a running stream at hand. 



SHELLS Y AT E TON. 



IS 



ber some long work he had even then commenced, but I never 
saw it. His love of nature was intense, and the sparkling 
poetry of his mind shone out of his speaking eye, when he was 
dwelling on anything good or great. He certainly was not 
happy at Eton, for his was a disposition that needed especial 
personal superintendence, to watch, and cherish, and direct all 
his noble aspirations, and the remarkable tenderness of his 
heart. He had great moral courage, and feared nothing, but 
what was base, and false, and low. He never joined in the 
usual sports of the boys, and, what is remarkable, never went 
out in a boat on the river. What I have here set down will be 
of little use to you, but will please you as a sincere, and truth- 
ful, and humble tribute to one whose good name was sadly 
whispered away. Shelley said to me, when leaving Oxford 
under a cloud : " Halliday, I am come to say good-bye to you, 
if you are not afraid to be seen with me ! " I saw him once 
again in the autumn of 1814, in London, when he was glad to 
introduce me to his wife. I think he said, he was just come from 
Ireland. You have done quite right in applying to me direct, 
and I am only sorry that I have no anecdotes, or letters, of that 
period, to furnish. 

I am yours truly, 

Walter S. Halliday. 

Dr. Keate, the head-master of Eton school, was a short, 
short-necked, short-legged man ; thick-set, powerful, and very 
active. His countenance resembled that of a bull-dog ; the 
expression was not less sweet and bewitching ; his eyes, his 
nose, and especially his mouth were exactly like that comely 
and engaging animal ; and so were his short, crooked legs. It 
was said in the school that old Keate could pin and hold a bull 
with his teeth. His iron sway was the more unpleasant and 
shocking, after the long, mild, Saturnian reign of Dr. Goodall, 
whose temper, ch^acter, and conduct corresponded precisely 
with his name, and under whom Keate had been master of the 
lower school. Discipline, wholesome and necessary in moder- 
ation, was carried by him to an excess ; it is reported, that 



1 6 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, 

on one morning he flogged eighty boys. Although he was 
rigid, coarse, and despotical, some affirm that, on the whole, 
he was not unjust, nor altogether devoid of kindness. His 
behavior was accounted vulgar and ungentlemanlike, and 
therefore he was peculiarly odious to the gentlemen of the school, 
especially to the refined and aristocratical Shelley. Being uni- 
versally unpopular, to torment him was excusable, legitimate, 
and even commendable. In school the head-master sate 
enthroned in a spacious elevated desk, enclosed on all sides, 
like a pew, with two doors, one on each side. These the boys 
one morning screwed fast. The Doctor entered the school at 
eleven o'clock, advanced to his desk, tried to open one door, 
and found it was fastened. He went round, grinning, growl- 
ing, and snarling, to the other side ; the door there had been 
secured also. Then, turning furiously to the boys, he said : 

'' You think to keep me out, eh ! You think I cannot get in 
here, eh ! But I will soon show you the difference, eh ! " 

The desk was as high as the breast of an ordinary man, and 
as high as the little Doctors head, but laying his hand on it, 
he lightly vaulted in. The season was summer ; in school old 
Keate wore a long gown and cassock, and in w^arm weather, 
it seemed, nothing under them ; for, in his leap, the learned 
and reverend Doctor displayed not only his agility, but his 
naked stern, all lower integuments being wanting. The un- 
wonted spectacle was saluted with loud cheers, and a hearty 
laugh. The mutinous explosion inflamed his wrath to the 
utmost. 

'^ You shall pay for this, eh ! I will make some of you suffer 
for it, eh ! " 

However, nothing came of it ; the enraged and insulted 
pedagogue could not discover the ofl"enders. The screws had 
been bought by two boys, a tall boy and a short one. That 
was all the detectives could find out. 

Shelley at Oxford. 

At the commencement of Michaelmas term, that is, at the 
end of October, in the year 1810, I happened one day to sit 



SHELLEY AT OXFORD. 1 7 

next to a freshman at dinner : it was his first appearance in 
hall. His figure was slight, and his aspect remarkably youth- 
ful, even at our table, where all were very young. He seemed 
thoughtful and absent. He ate little, and had no acquaintance 
with any one. I know not how it was that we fell into conver- 
sation, for su«h familiarity was unusual, and, strange to say, 
much reserve prevailed .in a society where there could not 
possibly be occasion for any. We have often endeavored in 
vain to recollect in what manner our discourse began, and 
especially by what transition it passed to a subject sufficiently 
remote from all the associations we were able to trace. The 
stranger had expressed an enthusiastic admiration for poetical 
and imaginative works of the German school. I dissented 
from his criticisms. He upheld the originality of the German 
writings. I asserted their want of nature. 

'^ What modern literature," said he, '' will you compare to 
theirs ? " 

I named the Italian. This roused all his impetuosity ; and 
few, as I soon discovered, were more impetuous in argument- 
ative conversation. So eager was our dispute, that when the 
servants came to clear the tables, we were not aware that we 
had been left alone. I remarked that it was time to quit the 
hall, and I invited the stranger to finish the discussion at my 
rooms. He eagerly assented. He lost the thread of his dis- 
course in the transit, and the whole of his enthusiasm in the 
cause of Germany^; for as soon as he arrived at my rooms, and 
whilst I was lighting the candles, he said calmly, and to my 
• great surprise, that he was not qualified to maintain such a 
discussion, for he was alike ignorant of Italian and German, 
and had only read the works of the Germans in translations, 
and but little of Italian poetry, even at second hand. For my 
part, I confessed, with an equal ingenuousness, that I knew 
nothing of German, and but little of Italian ; that I had spoken 
only through others, and like him, had hitherto seen by the 
glimmering light of translations. 

I inquired of the vivacious stranger, as we sat over our wine 
and dessert, how long he had been at Oxford, how he liked it ? 



iS PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, 

He answered my questions with a certain impatience, and, 
resuming the subject of our discussion, he remarked that, 
*^ Whether the hterature of Germany, or of Italy, be the more 
original, or in a purer and more accurate taste, is of little 
importance, for polite letters are but vain trifling ; the study 
of languages, not only of the modern tongues,* but of Latin 
and Greek also, is merely 'the study of words and phrases, of 
the names of things ; it matters not how they are called ; it is 
surely far better to investigate things themselves." I inquired, 
a little bewildered, how this was to be effected ? He answered, 
^' through the physical sciences, and especially through chem- 
istry ; " and raising his voice, his face flushing as he spoke, 
he discoursed with a degree of animation, that far outshone 
his zeal in defence of the Germans, of chemistry and chemical 
analysis. Concerning that science, then so popular, I had 
merely a scanty and vulgar knowledge, gathered from elemen- 
tary books, and the ordinary experiments of popular lecturers. 
I listened, therefore, in silence to his eloquent disquisition, 
interposing a few brief questions only, and at long intervals, as 
to the extent of his own studies and manipulations. As I felt, 
in truth, but a slight interest in the subject of his conversation, 
I had leisure to examine, and I may add, to admire, the ap- 
pearance of my very extraordinary guest. It was a sum of 
many contradictions. His figure was slight and fragile, and 
yet his bones and joints were large and strong. He was tall, 
but he stooped so much, that he seemed of a low stature. His 
clothes were expensive, and made according to the most 
approved mode of the day ; but they were tumbled, rumpled, 
unbrushed. His gestures were abrupt, and sometimes violent, 
occasionally even awkward, yet more frequently gentle and 
graceful. His complexion was delicate, and almost feminine, 
of the purest red and white ; yet he was tanned and freckled 
by exposure to the sun, having passed the autumn, as he said, 
in shooting. His features, his whole face, and particularly his 
head, were, in fact, unusually small ; yet the last appeared of 
a remarkable bulk, for his hair was long and bushy, and in fits 
of absence, and in the agonies (if I may use the word) of 



SHELLEY AT OXFORD. 



19 



anxious thought, he often rubbed it fiercely with his hands, or 
passed his fingers quickly through his locks unconsciously, so 
that it was singularly wild and rough. In times when it was 
the mode to imitate stage-coachmen as closely a possible in 
costume, and when the hair was invariably cropped, like that 
of our soldiers, this eccentricity was very striking. His fea- 
tures were not symmetrical (the mouth, perhaps, excepted), 
yet was the effect of the whole extremely powerful. They 
breathed an animation, a fire, an enthusiasm, a vivid and pre- 
ternatural intelligence, that I never met with in any other 
countenance. Nor was the moral expression less beautiful than 
the intellectual ; for there was a softness, a delicacy, a gentle- 
ness, and especially (though this will surprise many) that air of 
profound religious veneration, that characterizes the best 
works, and chiefly the frescoes (and into these they infused 
their whole souls), of the great masters of Florence and of 
Rome. I recognized the very peculiar expression in these 
wonderful productions long afterwards, and with a satisfaction 
mingled with much sorrow, for it was after the decease of him 
in whose countenance I had first observed it. I admired the 
enthusiasm of my new acquaintance, his ardor in the cause of 
science, and his thirst for knowledge. I seemed to have found 
in him all those intellectual qualities which I had vainly 
expected to meet with in an University. But there was one 
physical blemish that threatened to neutralize all his excellence. 
"" This is a fine, clever fellow! " I said to myself, '' but I can 
never bear his society; I shall never be able to endure his 
voice ; it would kill me. What a pity it is ! " I am very 
sensible of imperfections, and especially of painful sounds, — • 
and the voice of the stranger was excruciating ; it was intoler- 
ably shrill, harsh, and discordant; of the most cruel intension, 
— it was perpetual, and without any remission, — it excoriated 
the ears. He continued to discourse of chemistry, sometimes 
sitting, sometimes standing before the fire, and sometimes 
pacing about the room ; and when one of the innumerable 
clocks that speak in various notes during the day and the 
night at Oxford, proclaimed a quarter to seven, he said sud- 



20 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, 

denly that he must go to a lecture on mineralogy, and declared 
enthusiastically that he expected to derive much pleasure and 
instruction from it. I am ashamed to own that the cruel voice 
made me hesitate for a moment ; but it was impossible to omit 
so indispensable a civility — I invited him to return to tea ; he 
gladly assented, promised that he would not be absent long, 
snatched his cap, hurried out of the room, and I heard his 
footsteps, as he ran through the silent quadrangle, and after- 
wards along High-street. 

An hour soon elapsed, whilst the table was cleared, and the 
tea was made, and I again heard the footsteps of one running 
quickly. My guest suddenly burst into the room, threw down 
his cap, and as he stood shivering and chafing his hands over 
the fire, he declared how much he had been disappointed in 
the lecture. Few persons attended ; it was dull and languid, 
and he was resolved never to go to another. 

'^ I went away, indeed," he added, with an arch look, and 
in a shrill whisper, coming close to me as he spoke, — ^' I went 
away, indeed, before the lecture was finished. I stole away ; 
for it was so stupid, and I was so cold, that my teeth chattered. 
The Professor saw me, and appeared to be displeased. I 
thought I could have got out without being observed ; but I 
struck my knee against a bench, and made a noise, and he 
looked at me. I am determined that he shall never see me 
again." 

'^ What did the man talk about ? " 

'^ About stones ! about stones ! " he answered, with a down- 
cast look and in a melancholy tone, as if about to say some- 
thing excessively profound. '^ About stones ! — stones, stones, 
stones ! — nothing but stones ! — and so dryly. It was wonder- 
fully tiresome — and stones are not interesting things in them- 
selves ! " 

We took tea, and soon afterwards had supper, as was usual. 
He discoursed after supper with as much warmth as before of 
the wonders of chemistry ; of the encouragement that Napo- 
leon afforded to that most important science ; of the French 
chemists and their glorious discoveries ; and of the happiness 



SHELLEY AT OXFORD. 2 1 

of visiting Paris, and sharing in their fame and their experi- 
ments. The voice, however, seemed to me more cruel than 
ever. He spoke likewise of his own labors and of his appar- 
atus, and starting up suddenly after supper, he proposed that I 
should go instantly with him to see the galvanic trough. 1 
looked at my watch, and observed that it was too late ; that 
the fire would be out, and the night was cold. He resumed 
his seat, saying that I might come on the morrow, early, to 
breakfast, immediately after chapel. He continued to declaim 
in his rapturous strain, asserting that chemistry was, in truth, 
the only science that deserved to be studied. I suggested 
doubts. I ventured to question the pre-eminence of the sci- 
ence, and even to hesitate in admitting its utility. He de- 
scribed in glowing language some discoveries that had lately 
been made ; but the enthusiastic chemist candidly allowed that 
they were rather brilliant than useful, asserting, however, that 
they would be soon applied to purposes of solid advantage. 

With fervor did the slender, beardless stranger speculate 
concerning the march of physical science ; his speculations 
were as wild as the experience of twenty-one years has shown 
them to be ; but the zealous earnestness for the augmentation 
of knowledge, and the glowing philanthropy and boundless 
benevolence that marked them, and beamed forth in the whole 
deportment of that extraordinary boy, are not less astonishing 
than they would have been if the whole of his" glorious antici- 
pations had been prophetic ; for these high qualities, at least, 
I have never found a parallel. When he had ceased to predict 
the coming honors of chemistry, and to promise the rich har- 
vest of benefits it was soon to yield, I suggested that, although 
its results were splendid, yet for those who could not hope to 
make discoveries themselves, it did not afford so valuable a 
course of mental discipline as the moral sciences ; moreover, 
that if chemists asserted that their science alone deserved to 
be cultivated, the mathematicians made the same assertion, 
and with equal confidence, respecting their studies ; but that I 
was not sufficiently advanced myself in mathematics to be able 
to judge how far it was well founded. He declared that he 



22 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, 

knew nothing of mathematics, and treated the notion of their 
paramount importance with contempt. 

'^ What do you say of metaphysics ? " I continued ; ^^ is that 
science, too, the study of words only? " 

'^ Ay, metaphysics," he said, in a solemn tone, and with a 
mysterious air, ''that is a noble study indeed! If it were 
possible to make any discoveries there, they would be more 
valuable than anything the chemists have done, or could do ; 
they would disclose the analysis of mind, and not of mere 
matter ! " Then rising from his chair, he paced slowly about 
the room, with prodigious strides, and discoursed of souls with 
still greater animation and vehemence than he had displayed 
in treating of gases — of a future state — and especially of a 
former state — of pre-existence, obscured for a time through 
the suspension of consciousness — of personal identity, and also 
of ethical philosophy, in a deep and earnest tone of elevated 
morality, until he suddenly remarked that the fire was 
nearly out, and the candles were glimmering in their sockets, 
when he hastily apologized for remaining so long. I promised 
to visit the chemist in his laboratory, the alchemist in 
his study, the wizard in his cave, not at breakfast on that 
day, for it was already one, but in twelve hours — one hour 
after noon — and to hear some of the secrets of nature ; and 
for that purpose, he told me his name, and described the situa- 
tion of his rooms. I lighted him down stairs as well as I could 
with the stump of a candle which had dissolved itself into a 
lamp, and I soon heard him running through the quiet quad- 
rangle in the still night. That sound became afterwards so 
familiar to my ear, that I still seem to hear Shelley's hasty 
steps. 

I trust, or I should perhaps rather say, I hope, that I was as 
much struck by the conversation, the aspect, and the deport- 
ment of my new acquaintance, as entirely convinced of the 
value of the acquisition I had just made, and as deeply im- 
pressed with surprise and admiration, as became a young 
student not insensible of excellence, to whom a character so 
extraordinary, and indeed almost preternatural, had been 



SHELLEY AT OXFORD. 23 

suddenly unfolded. During his animated and eloquent dis- 
courses I felt a due reverence for his zeal and talent, but the 
human mind is capable of a certain amount of attention only. 
I had listened and discussed for seven or eight hours, and my 
spirits were totally exhausted ; I went to bed as soon as Shelley 
had quitted my rooms, and fell instantly into a profound sleep ; 
and I shook off with a painful effort, at the accustomed signal, 
the complete oblivion w^hich then appeared to have been 
but momentary. Many of the wholesome usages of antiquity 
had ceased at Oxford ; that of early rising, however, still lin- 
gered. 

As soon as I got up, I applied myself sedulously to my aca- 
demical duties and my accustomed studies. The power of 
habitual occupation is great and engrossing, and it is possible 
that my mind had not yet fully recovered from the agreeable 
fatigue of the preceding evening, for I had entirely forgotten 
my engagement, nor did the thought of my young guest once 
cross my fancy. It was strange that a person so remarkable 
and attractive should have thus disappeared for several hours 
from my memory ; but such in truth was the fact, although I 
am unable to account for it in a satisfactory manner. 

At one o'clock I put away my books and papers, and pre- 
pared myself for my daily walk ; the weather was frosty, with 
fog, and whilst I lingered over the fire with that reluctance to 
venture forth into the cold air, common to those w^ho have 
chilled themselves by protracted sedentary pursuits, the recol- 
lection of the scenes of yesterday flashed suddenly and vividly 
across my mind, and I quickly repaired to a spot that I may per- 
haps venture to predict many of our posterity will hereafter 
reverently vi^it, to the rooms in the corner next the hall of the 
principal quadrangle of University College ; they are on the 
first floor, and on the right of the entrance, but by reason of 
the turn in the stairs, when you reach them, they will be upon 
your left hand. I remember the directions given at parting, 
and I soon found the door ; it stood ajar. I tapped gently, and 
tlie discordant voice cried shrilly, — 

** Come in 1 " 



24 



PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 



It was now nearly two. I began to apologize for my delay, 
but I was interrupted by a loud exclamation of surprise — 

*^What! is it one? I had no notion it was so late ; I 
thought it was about ten or eleven." 

^* It is on the stroke of two, sir," said the scout, who was 
engaged in the vain attempt of setting the apartment in order. 

'^ Of two !" Shelley cried, with increased wonder, and pres- 
ently the clock struck, and the servant noticed it, retired, and 
shut the door. 

I perceived at once that the young chemist took no note of 
time. He measured duration, not by minutes and hours, like 
watchmakers and their customers, but by the successive trains 
of ideas and sensations ; consequently, if there was a virtue 
of which he was utterly incapable, it was that homely, but 
pleasing and useful one, punctuality. He could not tear him- 
self from his incessant abstraction to observe at intervals the 
growth and decline of the day ; nor was he ever able to set 
apart even a small portion of his mental powers for a duty so 
simple as that of watching the course of the pointers on the 
dial. 

I found him cowering over the fire, his chair planted in the 
middle of the rug, and his feet resting upon the fender ; his 
whole appearance was dejected. His astonishment at the 
unexpected lapse of time roused him ; as soon as the hour of 
the day was ascertained, he welcom^ed me, and seizing one of 
my arms with both his hands, he shook it with some force, 
and very cordially expressed his satisfaction at my visit. 
Then resuming his seat and his former posture, he gazed 
fixedly at the fire, and his limbs trembled and his teeth chat- 
, tered with cold. I cleared the fire-place with ^he poker and 
stirred the fire, and when it blazed up, he drew back, and 
looking askance towards the door, he exclaimed with a deep 
sigh,— 

" Thank God, that fellow is gone at last ! " 

The assiduity of the scout had annoyed him, and he pres- 
ently added — 

" If you had not come, he would have stayed until he had 



SHELLEY AT OXFORD. 25 

put everything in my room into some place where I should 
never have found it again ! " 

He then complained of his health, and said that he was very 
unwell ; but he did not appear to be affected by any disorder 
more serious than a slight aguish cold. I remarked the same 
contradiction in his rooms which I had already observed in his 
person and dress ; they had just been papered and painted ; 
the carpet, curtains, and furniture were quite new, and had 
not passed through several academical generations, after the 
established custom of transferring the whole of the movables 
to the successor on payments of thirds, that is, of two-thirds 
of the price last given. The general air of freshness was 
greatly obscured, however, by the indescribable confusion in 
which the various objects were mixed ; notwithstanding the 
unwelcome exertions of the officious scout, scarcely a single 
article was in its proper position. 

Books, boots, papers, shoes, philosophical instruments, 
clothes, pistols, linen, crockery, ammunition, and phials innu- 
merable, with money, stockings, prints, crucibles, bags, and 
boxes, were scattered on the floor and in every place ; as if 
the young chemist, in order to analyze the mystery of creation, 
had endeavored first to reconstruct the primeval chaos. The 
tables, and especially the carpet, were already stained with 
large spots of various hues, which frequently proclaimed the 
agency of fire. An electrical machine, an air-pump, the gal- 
vanic trough, a solar microscope, and large glass jars and 
receivers, were conspicuous amidst the mass of matter. Upon 
the table by his side were some books lying open, several 
letters, a bundle of new pens, and a bottle of japan ink, that 
served as an inkstand ; a piece of deal, lately part of the lid 
of a box, with many chips, and a handsome razor that had 
been used as a knife. There were bottles of soda water, sugar, 
pieces of lemon, and the traces of an effervescent beverage. 
Two piles of books supported the tongs, and these upheld a 
small glass retort above an argand lamp. I had not been seated 
many minutes before the liquor in the vessel boiled over, 
adding fresh stains to the table, and rising in fumes with a 
2 



26 PERCY BYSSNE SHELLEY, 

most disagreeable odor. Shelley snatched the glass quickly, 
and dashing it in pieces among the ashes under the grate, 
increased the unpleasant and penetrating effluvium.* 

He then proceeded, with much eagerness and enthusiasm, 
to show me the various instruments, especially the electrical 
apparatus ; turning round the handle very rapidly, so that the 
fierce, crackling sparks flew forth ; and presently standing 
upon the stool with glass feet, he begged me to work the 
machine until he was filled with the fluid, so that his long, wild 
locks bristled and stood on end. Afterwards he charged a 
powerful battery of several large jars ; laboring with vast 
energy, and discoursing with increasing vehemence of the 
marvellous powers of electricity, of thunder and lightning ; 
describing an electrical kite that he had made at home, and 
projecting another and an enormous one, or rather a combi- 
nation of many kites, that would draw down from the sky an 
immense volume of electricity, the whole ammunition of a 
mighty thunderstorm ; and this being directed to some point 
would there produce the most stupendous results. 

In these exhibitions and in such conversation the time passed 
away rapidly, and the hour of dinner approached. Having 
pricked cFger that day, or, in other words, having caused his 
name to be entered as an invalid, he was not required, or per- 
mitted, to dine in hall, or to appear in public within the col- 
lege, or without the walls, until a night's rest should have re- 
stored the sick man to health. 

He requested me to spend the evening at his rooms ; I con- 
sented, nor did I fail to attend immediately after dinner. We 

* *'In this story tnere may be one or two of the circumstances which we can rely 
upon as having actually occurred ; as to the rest of the description, it is evidently as 
complete a study as a chapter in jyze Old Curiosity ShoJ>, Mr. Hogg had forgotten 
that a few pages before that Shelley had but just entered the University, that he had 
dined the preceding evening for the first time in hall, and that as far as Mr. Hogg's in- 
formation goes, this might have been only the third day of Shelley's residence at 
Oxford, and yet there was time in this short interval to burn the carpets and the 
tables, and create the cbaos which Mr. Hogg depicts with the hand of a master. 
The 'bundle of newspapers,' the 'bottle of Japan ink,' and the 'traces of an effer- 
vescent mixture,' recorded after twenty years, are wonderful results of the imagination, 
if not of the memory of the writer." — Dennis Florence MacCartky. 



SHELLEY AT OXFORD. 



27 



conversed until a late hour on miscellaneous topics. I remem- 
ber that he spoke frequently of poetry, and that there was the 
same animation, the same glowing zeal, which had character- 
ised his former discourses, and was so opposite to the listless 
languor, the monstrous indifference, if not the absolute antip- 
athy, to learning, that so strangely darkened the collegiate 
atmosphere. It would seem, indeed, to one who rightly con- 
sidered the final cause of the institution of an University, that 
all the rewards, all the honors, the most opulent foundation 
could accumulate, would be inadequate to remunerate an indi- 
vidual, whose thirst for knowledge was so intense, and his ac- 
tivity in the pursuit of it so wonderful and so unwearied. I par- 
ticipated in his enthusiasm, and soon forgot the shrill and un- 
musical voice that had at first seemed intolerable to my ear. 

He was, indeed, a whole University in himself to me, in 
respect of the stimulus and incitement which his example 
afforded to my love of study, and he amply atoned for the dis- 
appointment I had felt on my arrival at Oxford. In one 
respect alone could I pretend to resemble him, in an ardent 
desire to gain knowledge ; and as our tastes were the same in 
many particulars, we immediately became, through sympathy, 
most intimate and altogether inseparable companions. We 
almost invariably passed the afternoon and evening together ; 
at first alternately at our respective rooms, through a certain 
punctiliousness, but afterwards, when we became more famil- 
iar, most frequently by far at his ; sometimes one or two good 
and harmless men of our acquaintance were present, but we 
were usually alone. His rooms were preferred to mine, 
because there his philosophical apparatus was at hand; and at 
that period he was not perfectly satisfied with the condition 
and circumstances of his existence, unless he was able to start 
from his seat at any moment, and seizing the air-pump, some 
magnets, the electrical machine, or the bottles containing those 
noxious and nauseous fluids, wherewith he incessantly be- 
smeared and disfigured himself and his goods, to ascertain by 
actual experiment the value of some new idea that rushed into 
his brain. He spent much time in working by fits and starts 



, g PER CY B YSSHE SHELLEY. 

and in an irregular manner ^vith his instruments, and especially 
consumed his hours and his money in the assiduous cultivation 

°^^':tv7■heard that one of the most distinguished of 
n.odern discoverers was abrupt, hasty, and to appearance clis- 
orderlv in the conduct of his manipulations; the variety ot 
t^e habits of great men is indeed infinite ; it is ™P.o-bk' 
therefore, to decide peremptorily as to the capabilities of 
nd V dua s from their course of proceeding, yet it certainly 
seemed highlv improbable that Shelley ^vas quahfied to succeed 
n a science therein a scrupulous minuteness and a mechanical 
accuracv are indispensable. His chemical operations seemed 
to an unskilful observer to promise nothing but disasters His 
hands" his clothes, his books, and his furniture were stained 
and corroded bv mineral acids. More than one hole in the 
carpet could elucidate the ultimate phenomenon of combustion ; 
eSc a Iv a formidable aperture in the middle of the room, 
Xe the floor also had been burnt by the spontaneous ignUion 
caused bv mixing ether with some other fluid in a crucible, 
and he honorable wound was speedily enlarged by rents for 
the philosopher, as he hastily crossed the room m pursuit of 
ruth was frequently caught in it by the foot. Many tim s a 
dav but alwavs m vain, would the sedulous scout say, pointing 
to the scorched boards with a significant looK- 

-Would it not be better, sir, for us to get this place 

""utemed but too probable that in the rash ardor of experi- 
n^ent^ie would some day set the college on fire, or that he 
would blind, maim, or kill himself by the explosion of com- 
b^sdbles. It was sdll more likely indeed that he would poison 
h"mself, for plates and glasses, and ,very part of his tea equipage 
te"e us^d indiscriminately with crucibles, -torts, and recipi- 
ents to contain the most deleterious ingredients. To his 
infinite diversion I used always to examine every dnnking- 
vesse narrowlv, and often to rinse it carefully, after that even- 
r f when we were taking tea by firelight, and my attention 
bein- attracted by the sound of something in the cup into which 



SHELLEY AT OXFORD, 



29 



I was about to pour tea, I was induced to look into it. I found 
a seven-shilling piece partly dissolved by the aqua regia in 
which it was immersed. Although he laughed at my caution, 
he used to speak with horror of the consequences of having 
inadvertently swallowed, through a similar accident, some 
mineral poison, I think arsenic, at Eton, which he declared had 
not only seriously injured his health, but that he feared he 
should never entirely recover from the shock it had inflicted on 
his constitution. It seemed probable, notwithstanding his 
positive assertions, that his lively fancy exaggerated the recol- 
lection of the unpleasant and permanent taste, or the sickness 
and disorder of the stomach, which might arise from taking a 
minute portion of some poisonous substance by the like chance, 
for there was no vestige of a more serious and lasting injury in 
his youthful and healthy, although somewhat delicate aspect. 

I knew little of the physical sciences, and I felt therefore 
but a sHght degree of interest in them ; I looked upon his 
philosophical apparatus merely as toys and playthings, like a 
chess-board or a billiard-table. Through lack of sympathy, 
his zeal, which was at first so ardent, gradually cooled ; and he 
applied himself to these pursuits, after a short time, less fre- 
quently and with less earnestness. The true value of them 
was often the subject of animated discussion ; and I remember 
one evening at my own rooms, when we had sought refuge 
against the intense cold in the little inner apartment, or study, 
I referred, in the course of our debate, to a passage in Xeno- 
phon's *' Memorabilia," where Socrates speaks in disparage- 
ment of Physics. He read it several times very attentively, 
and more than once aloud, slowly and with emphasis, and it 
appeared to make a strong impression on him. 

Notwithstanding our difference of opinion as to the import- 
ance of chemistry, and on some other questions, our intimacy 
rapidly increased, and we soon formed the habit of passing the 
greater part of our time together ; nor did this constant inter- 
course interfere with my usual studies. I never visited his 
rooms until one o'clock, by which hour, as I rose very early, I 
had not only attended the college lectures, but had read in pri- 



30 



PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, 



vate for several hours. I was enabled, moreover, to continue 
my studies afterwards in the evening, in consequence of a 
very remarkable peculiarity. My young and energetic friend 
was then overcome by extreme drowsiness, which speedily and 
completely vanquished him ; he would sleep from two to four 
hours, often so soundly that his slumbers resembled a deep 
lethargy ; he lay occasionally upon the sofa, biit more com- 
monly stretched upon the rug before a large fire, like a cat ; 
and his little round head was exposed to such a fierce heat, 
that I used to wonder how he was able to bear it. Sometimes 
I have interposed some shelter, but rarely with any permanent 
effect ; for the sleeper usually contrived to turn himself, and 
to roll again into the spot where the fire glowed the brightest. 
His torpor was generally profound, but he would sometimes 
discourse incoherently for a long while in his sleep. At six he 
would suddenly compose himself, even in the midst of a most 
animated narrative or of earnest discussion ; and he would lie 
buried in entire forgetfulness, in a sweet and mighty oblivion, 
until ten, when he would suddenly start up, and rubbing his eyes 
with great violence, and passing his fingers swiftly through his 
long hair, would enter at once into a vehement argument, or 
begin to recite verses, either of his own composition or from 
the works of others, with a rapidity and an energy that were 
often quite painful. During the period of his occultation I 
took tea, and read or wrote without interruption. He would 
sometimes sleep for a shorter time, for about two hours ; post- 
poning for the like period the commencement of his retreat to 
the rug, and rising with tolerable punctuality at ten ; and some- 
times, although rarely, he was able entirely to forego the 
accustomed refreshment. 

We did not consume the whole of our time, when he was 
awake, in conversation ; we often read apart, and more fre- 
quently together ; our joint studies were occasionally inter- 
rupted by long discussions — nevertheless I could enumerate 
many works, and several of them are extensive and important, 
which we perused completely and very carefully in this manner. 
At ten, when he awoke, he was always ready for his supper, 



SHELLEY AT OXFORD. 



31 



which he took with a peculiar rehsh ; after that social meal his 
mind was clear and penetrating, and his discourses eminently 
brilliant. He was unwilling to separate ; but when the college 
clock struck two, I used to rise and retire to my room. Our 
conversations were sometimes considerably prolonged, but 
they seldom terminated before that chilly hour of the early 
morning ; nor did I feel any inconvenience from thus reducing 
the period of rest to scarcely five hours. 

A disquisition on some difficult question in the open air was 
not less agreeable to him than by the fireside ; if the weather 
was fine, or rather not altogether intolerable, we used to sally 
forth, when we met at one. 

I have already pointed out several contradictions in his ap- 
pearance and character ; his ordinary preparation for a rural 
walk formed a very remarkable contrast with his mild aspect 
and pacific habits. He furnished himself with a pair of 
duelling pistols, and a good store of powder and ball ; and 
when he came to a solitary spot, he pinned a card, or fixed 
some other mark upon a tree or a bank, and amused himself 
by firing at it ; he was a pretty good shot, and was much 
delighted at his success. He often urged me to try my hand 
and eyQ, assuring me that I was not aware of the pleasure 
of a good hit. One day when he was peculiarly pressing, I 
took up a pistol and asked him what I should aim at ? And 
observing a slab of wood, about as big as a hearth-rug, stand- 
ing against a wall, I named it as being a proper object. He 
s:iid that it was much too far off, it was better to wait until we 
came nearer ; but I answered — " I may as well fire here as 
anywhere," and instantly discharged my pistol. To my infinite 
surprise, the ball struck the elm target most accurately in the 
very centre. Shelley was delighted ; he ran to the board, 
placed his chin close to it — gazed at the hole where the bullet 
was lodged — examined it attentively on all sides many tim^s, 
and more than once measured the distance to the spot where I 
had stood. 

I never knew any one so prone to admire as he was, in whom 
the principle of veneration was so strong ; he extolled my 



32 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 

skill, urged me repeatedly to display it again, and begged that 
I would give him instructions in an art in which I so much 
excelled. I suffered him to enjoy his wonder for a few days, 
and then I told him, and with difficulty persuaded him, that 
my success was purely accidental ; for I had seldom fired a 
pistol before, and never with ball, but with shot only, as a 
schoolboy, in clandestine and bloodless expeditions against 
blackbirds and yellowhammers. 

The duelling pistols were a most discordant interruption of 
the repose of a quiet country walk : besides, he handled them 
with such inconceivable carelessness, that I had perpetually 
reason to apprehend that, as a trifling episode in the grand and 
heroic work of drilling a hole through the back of a card, or 
the front of one of his father's franks, he would shoot himself, 
or me, or both of us. How often have I lamented that Nature, 
which so rarely bestows upon the world a creature endowed 
with such marvellous talents, ungraciously rendered the gift 
less precious by implanting a fatal taste for perilous recreations, 
and a thoughtlessness in the pursuit of them, that often caused 
his existence from one day to another to seem in itself mirac- 
ulous. I opposed the practice of walking armed, ^«d I at 
last succeeded in inducing him to leave the pistols at home, 
and to forbear the use of them. I prevailed, I believe, not so 
much by argument or persuasion, as by secretly abstracting, 
when he equipped himself for the field, and it was not difficult 
with him, the powder-flask, the flints, or some other indispen- 
sable article. One day, I remember, he was grievously discom- 
posed, and seriously offended, to find, on producing his pistols, 
after descending rapidly into a quarry, where he proposed to 
take a few shots, that not only had the flints been removed, 
but the screws and the bits of steel at the tops of the cocks, 
which hold the flints, were also wanting. He determined to 
return to college for them, — I accompanied him. I tempted 
him, however, by the way, to try to define anger, and to discuss 
the nature of that affection of the mind, to which, as the discus- 
sion waxed warm, he grew exceedingly hostile in theory, and 
could not be brought to admit that it could possibly be excusable 



SHELLEY AT OXFORD. 



33 



in any case. In the course of conversation, moreover, he suf- 
fered himself to be insensibly turned away from his original path 
and purpose. I have heard, that some years after he left Ox- 
ford he resumed the practice of pistol-shooting, and attained 
to a very unusual degree of skill in an accomplishment so 
entirely incongruous with his nature. 

Of rural excursions he was at all times fond ; he loved to 
walk in the woods, to stroll on the banks of the Thames, but 
especially to w^ander about Shotover Hill. There was a pond 
at the foot of the hill before ascending it, and on the left of 
the road ; it was formed by the water which had filled an old 
quarry : whenever he was permitted to shape his course as he 
w^ould, he proceeded to the edge of this pool, although the 
scene had no other attraction than a certain wildness and bar- 
renness. Here he would linger until dusk, gazing in silence on 
the water, repeating verses aloud, or earnestly discussing 
themes that had no connection with surrounding objects. 
Sometimes he would raise a stone as large as he could lift, 
deliberately throw it into the water as far as his strength 
enabled him ; then he would loudly exult at the splash, and 
w^ould quietly watch the decreasing agitation, until the last faint 
ring and almost imperceptible ripple disappeared on the still 
surface. "' Such are the effects of an impulse on the air," he 
would say ; and he complained of our ignorance of the theory 
of sound, — that the subject was obscure and mysterious, and 
many of the phenomena were contradictory and inexplicable. 
He asserted that the science of acoustics ought to be cultivated, 
and that by well-devised experiments valuable discoveries 
would undoubtedly be made ; and he related many remarka- 
ble stories connected with the subject, that he had heard or 
read. Sometimes, he would busy himself in splitting the 
slaty stones, in selecting thin and flat pieces, and in giving 
them a round form ; and when he had collected a sufficient 
number, he would gravely make ducks and drakes with them, 
counting, with the utmost glee, the number of bounds, as they 
flew along skimming the surface of the pond. He was a 
devoted w^orshipper of the water-nymphs ; for whenever he 



34 



PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 



found a pool, or even a small puddle, he would loiter near it, 
and it was no easy task to get him to quit it. He had not yet 
learned that art, from which he afterwards derived so much 
pleasure — the construction of paper boats. He twisted a 
morsel of paper into a form that a lively fancy might consider 
a likeness of a boat, and committing it to the water, he anx- 
iously watched the fortunes of the frail bark, which, if it was 
not soon swamped by the faint winds and miniature waves, 
gradually imbibed water through its porous sides, and sank. 
Sometimes, however, the fairy vessel performed its little 
voyage, and reached the opposite shore of the puny ocean in 
safety. It is astonishing with w^hat keen delight he engaged in 
this singular pursuit. It was not easy for an uninitiated 
spectator to bear with tolerable patience the vast delay, on 
the brink of a wretched pond upon a bleak common, and in 
the face of a cutting north-east wind, on returning to dinner 
from a long walk at sunset on a cold winter's day ; nor was it 
easy to be so harsh as to interfere with a harmless gratification, 
that was evidently exquisite. It was not easy, at least, to in- 
duce the ship-builder to desist from launching his tiny fleets, 
so long as any timber remained in the dockyard. I prevailed 
once, and once only ; it was one of those bitter Sundays that 
commonly receive the new year ; the sun had set, and it had 
almost begun to snow. I had exhorted him long in vain, with 
the eloquence of a frozen and famished man, to proceed ; at 
last, I said in despair — alluding to his never-ending creations, 
for a paper-navy that was to be set afloat simultaneously lay at 
his feet, and he was busily constructing more, with blue and 
swollen hands, — '' Shelley, there is no use in talking to you ; 
you are the Demiurgus of Plato ! " He instantly caught up the 
whole flotilla, and bounding homeward with mighty strides, 
laughed aloud — laughed like a giant, as he used to say. So 
long as his paper lasted, he remained riveted to the spot, fasci- 
nated by this peculiar amusement ; all waste paper was rapidly 
consumed, then the covers of letters, next letters of little value ; 
the most precious contributions of the most esteemed corre- 
spondence, although eyed wistfully many times, and often 



SHELLEY AT OXFORD. 



35 



returned to the pocket, were sure to be sent at last in pursuit 
of the former squadrons. Of the portable volumes which 
were the companions of his rambles, and he seldom went out 
without a book, the fly-leaves were commonly wanting, — he 
had applied them as our ancestor Noah applied Gopher wood ; 
but learning was so sacred in his eyes, that he never trespassed 
farther upon the integrity of the copy ; the work itself was 
always respected. It has been said, that he once found him- 
self on the north bank of the Serpentine river without the 
materials for indulging those inclinations, which the sight of 
water invariably inspired, for he had exhausted his supplies on 
the round pond in Kensington Gardens. Not a single scrap of 
paper could be found, save only a bank-post bill for fifty 
pounds ; he hesitated long, but yielded at last ; he twisted it 
into a boat with the extreme refinement of his skill, and com- 
mitted it with the utmost dexterity to fortune, watching its 
progress, if possible, with a still more intense anxiety than 
usual. Fortune often favors those who frankly and fully trust 
her ; the north-east wind gently wafted the costly skiff to the 
south bank, where, during the latter part of the voyage, the 
venturous owner had awaited its arrival with patient solicitude. 
The story, of course, is a Mythic fable, but it aptly portrays 
the dominion of a singular and most unaccountable passion 
over the mind of an enthusiast. 

But to return to Oxford. Shelley disliked exceedingly all 
college-meetings, and especially one which was the most popu- 
lar with others — the public dinner in the hall ; he used often to 
absent himself, and he was greatly delighted whenever I agreed 
to partake with him in a slight luncheon at one, to take a long 
walk into the country, and to return after dark to tea and sup- 
per in his rooms. On one of these expeditions we wandered 
farther than usual, without regarding the distance or the lapse 
of time ; but we had no difficulty in finding our way home, for 
the night was clear and frosty, and the moon at the full ; and 
most glorious was the spectacle as we approached the City of 
Colleges, and passed through the silent streets. It was near 
ten when we entered our college ; not only was it too late for 



36 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 

tea, but supper was ready, the cloth laid, and the table spread. 
A large dish of scalloped oysters had been set within the fender, 
to be kept hot for the famished wanderers. 

Among the innumerable contradictions in the character and 
deportment of the youthful poet was a strange mixture of a 
singular grace, which manifested itself in his actions and ges- 
tures, with an occasional awkwardness almost as remarkable. 
As soon as we entered the room, he placed his chair as usual 
directly in front of the fire, and eagerly pressed forward to 
warm himself, for the frost was severe, and he was very sensible 
of cold. Whilst cowering over the fire and rubbing his hands, 
he abruptly set both his feet at once upon the edge of the 
fender ; it immediately flew up, threw under the grate the dish, 
which was broken into two pieces, and the whole of the deli- 
cious mess was mingled with the cinders and ashes, that had 
accumulated for several hours. It was impossible that a hun- 
gry and frozen pedestrian should restrain a strong expression 
of indignation, or that he should forbear, notwithstanding the 
exasperation of cold and hunger, from smiling and forgiving the 
accident at seeing the whimsical air and aspect of the offender, 
as he held up with the shovel the long-anticipated food, de- 
formed by ashes, coals, and cinders, with a ludicrous expression 
of exaggerated surprise, disappointment, and contrition. 

Our supper had disappeared under the grate, but we were 
able to silence the importunity of hunger. As the supply of 
cheese was scanty, Shelley pretended, in order to atone for his 
carelessness, that he never ate it; but I refused to take more 
than my share, and notwithstanding his reiterated declarations, 
that it was offensive to his palate and hurtful to his stomach, as 
I was inexorable, he devoured the remainder, greedily swallow- 
ing not merely the cheese, but the rind also, after scraping it 
cursorily, and with a curious tenderness. A tankard of the 
stout brown ale of our college aided us greatly in removing the 
sense of cold, and in supplying the deficiency of food, so that 
we turned our chairs towards the fire, and began to brew our 
negus as cheerfully as if the bounty of the hospitable gods had 
not been intercepted. 



ADVENTURE WITH AN ASS. 



37 



We reposed ourselves after the fatigue of an unusually long 
walk, and silence was broken by short remarks only, and at 
considerable intervals, respecting the beauty of moonlight 
scenes, and especially of that we had just enjoyed ; the serenity 
and clearness of the night exceeded any we had before wit- 
nessed ; the light was so strong it would have been easy to read 
or write. " How strange it was, that light proceeding from the 
sun, which was at such a prodigious distance, and at that time 
entirely out of sight, should be reflected from the moon, and 
that was no trifling journey, and sent back to the earth in such 
abundance, and with so great force ! " 

Languid expressions of admiration dropped from our lips, 
as we stretched our stiff and wearied limbs towards the genial 
warmth of a blazing fire. On a sudden, Shelley started from 
his seat, seized one of the candles, and began to walk about the 
room on tiptoe in profound silence, often stooping low, and 
evidently engaged in some mysterious search. I asked him 
what he wanted, but he returned no answer, and continued his 
whimsical and secret inquisition, which he prosecuted in the 
same extraordinary manner in the bed-room and the little 
study. It had occurred to him that a dessert had possibly been 
sent to his rooms whilst we were absent, and had been put 
away. He found the object of his pursuit at last, and pro- 
duced some small dishes from the study ; apples, oranges, 
almonds and raisins, and a little cake. These he set close 
together at my side of the table, without speaking, but with a 
triumphant look, yet with the air of a penitent making restitu- 
tion and reparation, and then resumed his seat. The un- 
expected succor was very seasonable ; this light fare, a few 
glasses of negus, warmth, and especially rest, restored our lost 
vigor, and our spirits. 

Adventure with an Ass. 

We were walking one afternoon in Bagley Wood ; on turning 
a corner, we suddenly came upon a boy who was driving an 
ass. It was very young, and very weak, and was staggering 
beneath a most disproportionate load of fagots, and he was 



38 



PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, 



belaboring its lean ribs angrily and violently with a short, thick, 
heavy cudgel. 

At the sight of cruelty Shelley was instantly transported far 
beyond the usual measure of excitement : he sprang forward, 
and was about to interpose with energetic and indignant vehe- 
mence. I caught him by the arm, and to his present annoyance 
held him back, and with much difficulty persuaded him to 
allow me to be the advocate of the dumb animal. His cheeks 
glowed with displeasure, and his lips murmured his impatience 
during my brief dialogue with the young tyrant. 

" That is a sorry little ass, boy," I said ; '^ it seems to have 
scarcely any strength." 

"" None at all ; it is good for nothing." 

^' It cannot get on ; it can hardly stand ; if anybody could 
make it go, you would ; you have taken great pains with it." 

** Yes, I have ; but it is to no purpose I " 

'^ It is of little use striking it, I think." 

^' It is not worth beating; the stupid beast has got more 
wood now than it can carry ; it can hardly stand, you see"! '^ 

'' I suppose it put it upon its back itself? " 

The boy was silent : I repeated the question. 

*^ No ; it has not sense enough for that," he replied, with an 
incredulous leer. 

By dint of repeated blows he had split one end of his cudgel, 
and the sound caused by the divided portion had alarmed 
Shelley's humanity ; I pointed to it and said, '^ You have split 
your stick ; it is not good for much now." 

He turned it, and held the divided end in his hand. 

*' The other end is whole, I see ; but I suppose you could 
split that too on the ass's back, if you chose ; it is not so 
thick." 

^^ It is not so thick, but it is full of knots ; it would take a 
great deal of trouble to split it, and the beast is not worth that ; 
it would do no good ! " 

^Mt would do no good, certainly ; and if anybody saw you, 
he might say that you were a savage young ruffian, and that 
you ought to be served in the same manner yourself." 



SHELLEY AS A READER. 



39 



The fellow looked at me with some surprise, and sank into 
sullen silence. 

He presently threw his cudgel into the wood as far as he was 
able, and began to amuse himself by pelting the birds with 
pebbles, leaving my long- eared client to proceed at its own 
pace, having made up his mind, perhaps, to be beaten himself, 
when he reached home, by a tyrant still more unreasonable 
than himself, on account of the inevitable default of his ass. 

Shelley was satisfied with the result of our conversation, and 
I repeated to him the history of the injudicious and unfortunate 
interference of Don Quixote between the peasant, John Hal- 
dudo, and his servant, Andrew. Although he reluctantly 
admitted that the acrimony of humanity might often aggravate 
the sufferings of the oppressed .by provoking the oppressor, I 
always observed, that the impulse of generous indignation, on 
witnessing the infliction of pain, was too vivid to allow him to 
pause and consider the probable consequences of the abrupt 
interposition of the knight errantry, which would at once re- 
dress all grievances. Such exquisite sensibility and a sympa- 
thy with suffering so acute and so uncontrolled may possibly be 
inconsistent with the calmness and forethought of the philoso- 
pher, but they accord well with the high temperature of a poet's 
blood. 

Shelley as a Reader. 

No student ever read more assiduously. He was to be found, 
book in hand, at all hours ; reading in season and out of 
season; at table, in bed, and especially during a walk; not 
only in the quiet country, and in retired paths ; not only at 
Oxford, in the public walks, and High Street, but in the most 
crowded thoroughfares of London. Nor was he less absorbed 
by the volume that was open before him, in Cheapside, in 
Cranbourne Alley, or in Bond Street, than in a lonely lane, or 
a secluded library. 

Sometimes a vulgar fellow would attempt to insult or annoy 
the eccentric student in passing. Shelley always avoided the 
malignant interruption by stepping aside with his vast and 
quiet agility. 



40 



PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 



Sometimes I have observed, as an agreeable contrast to these 
wretched men, that persons of the humblest station have 
paused and gazed with respectful wonder as he advanced, 
almost unconscious of the throng, stooping low, with bent 
knees and outstretched neck, poring earnestly over the volume, 
which he extended before him : for they knew this, although 
the simple people knew but little, that an ardent scholar is 
worthy of deference, and that the man of learning is necessarily 
the friend of humanity, and especially of the many. I never 
beheld eyes that devoured the pages more voraciously than his : 
I am convinced that two-thirds of the period of day and night 
were often employed in reading. It is no exaggeration to 
affirm, that out of the twenty-four hours, he frequently read 
sixteen. At Oxford, his diligence in this respect was exem- 
plary, but it greatly increased afterwards, and I sometimes 
thought that he carried it to a pernicious excess : I am sure, at 
least, that I was unable to keep pace with him. 

On the evening of a wet day, when wx had read with scarcely 
any intermission from an early hour in the morning, I have 
urged him to lay aside his book. It required some extrava- 
gance to rouse him to join heartily in conversation ; to tempt 
him to avoid the chimney-piece, on which commonly he had 
laid the open volume. 

^' If I were to read as long as you read, Shelley, my hair and 
my teeth would be strewed about on the floor, and my eyes 
would slip down my cheeks into my waistcoat pockets ; or at 
least I should become so weary and nervous that I should not 
know whether it were so or not." 

He began to scrape the carpet with his feet, as if teeth were 
actually lying upon it, and he looked fixedly at my face, and 
his lively fancy represented the empty sockets ; his imagination 
was excited, and the spell that bound him to his books was 
broken, and, creeping close to the fire, and, as it were, under 
the fire-place, he commenced a most animated discourse. Few 
were aware of the extent, and still fewer, I apprehend, of the 
profundity of his reading ; in his short life, and without osten- 
tation, he had, in truth, read more Greek than many an aged 



SHELLEY'S DLETETICS, 4 1 

pedant, who, with pompous parade, prides himself upon this 
study alone. Although he had not entered critically into the 
minute niceties of the noblest of languages, he was thoroughly 
conversant with the valuable matter it contains. A pocket 
edition of Plato, of Plutarch, of Euripides, without interpreta- 
tion or notes, or of the Septuagint, was his ordinary compan- 
ion ; and he read the text straightforward for hours, if not as 
readily as an English author, at least with as much facility as 
French, Italian, or Spanish. 

** Upon my soul, Shelley, your style of going through a 
Greek book is something quite beautiful ! " was the wondering 
exclamation of one who was himself no mean student. 

Shelley's Dietetics. 

Bread became his chief sustenance, when his regimen at- 
tained to that austerity which afterwards distinguished it. He 
could have lived on bread alone without repining. When he 
was walking in London with an acquaintance, he would sud- 
denly run into a baker's shop, purchase a supply, and breaking 
a loaf, he would offer half of it to his companion. 

*' Do you know," he said to me one day, with much surprise, 
*' that such an one does not like bread ? Did you ever know a 
person who disliked bread ? " and he told me that a friend had 
refused such an offer. 

I explained to him, that the individual in question probably 
had no objection to bread in a moderate quantity, at a proper 
time and with the usual adjuncts, and was only unwilling to 
devour two or three pounds of dry bread in the streets, and at 
an early hour. 

Shelley had no such scruple ; his pockets were generally well- 
stored with bread. A circle upon the carpet, clearly defined 
by an ample verge of crumbs, often marked the place where he 
had long sat at his studies, his face nearly in contact with his 
book, greedily devouring bread at intervals amidst his profound 
abstractions. For the most part he took no condiment ; some- 
times, however, he ate with his bread the common raisins which 



42 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, 

are used in making puddings, and these he would buy at little 
mean shops. 

He was walking one day in London with a respectable solici- 
tor, who occasionally transacted business for him ; with his 
accustomed precipitation he suddenly vanished, and as sud- 
denly reappeared ; he had entered the shop of a little grocer 
in an obscure quarter, and had returned wdth some plums, 
which he held close under the attorney's nose, and the man of 
fact was as much astonished at the offer, as his client, the man 
of fancy, at the refusal. 

The common fruit of stalls, and oranges and apples, were 
always welcome to Shelley ; he would crunch the latter as 
heartily as a schoolboy. Vegetables, and especially salads, 
and pies and puddings, were acceptable : his beverage con- 
sisted of copious and frequent draughts of cold water, but tea 
w^as ever grateful, cup after cup, and coffee. Wine was taken 
with singular moderation, commonly diluted largely with water, 
and for a long period he would abstain from it altogether ; he 
avoided the use of spirits almost invariably, and even in the 
most minute portions. 

Like all persons of simple tastes, he retained his sweet tooth ; 
he would greedily eat cakes, ginger-bread, and sugar ; honey, 
preserved or stewed fruit, wdth bread, were his favorite delica- 
cies, these he thankfully and joyfully received from others, but 
he rarely sought for them, or provided them for himself. The 
restraint and protracted duration of a convivial meal were 
intolerable ; he was seldom able to keep his seat during the 
brief period assigned to an ordinary family dinner. 

Shelley the Atheist. 

One morning, a few days after I made Shelley's acquaintance, 
I was at his rooms, and we were reading together, two Etonians 
called on him, as they were wont to do ; they remained a short 
time conversing with him. 

'* Do you mean to be an Atheist here, too, Shelley ? " one of 
them inquired. 

^^No!" he answered, ^* certainly not. There is no motive 



SHELLEY THE ATHELST. 



43 



for it ; there would be no use in it ; they are very civil to us 
here ; they never interfere with us ; it is not like Eton." 

To this they both assented. When his visitors were gone, I 
asked him what they meant. He told me that at Eton he had 
been called Shelley the Atheist; and he explained to me the 
true signification of the epithet. This is the substance of his 
explanation : — 

All persons who are familiar with public schools, are well 
aware that there is a set of nicknames, many of them denoting 
offices, as the Pope, the Bishop, the Major, the General, the 
Governor, and the like, and these are commonly filled by suc- 
cessive generations. At Eton, but at no other school, that I 
ever heard of, they had the name and office of Atheist ; but 
this usually was not full, it demanded extraordinary daring to 
attain to it ; it was commonly in commission, as it were, and 
the youths of the greatest hardihood might be considered as 
boys commissioners for executing the office of Lord High 
Atheist. 

Shelley's predecessor had filled the office some years before 
his time ; he also was called Blank the Atheist, we must say, 
for I have forgotten his name. The act of Atheism, in virtue 
of which he obtained the title, was gross, flagrant, and down- 
right. 

A huge bunch of grapes, richly gilded, hung in front of 
^' The Christopher," as the sign, or in aid of the sign, of the 
inn. This the profane young wretch took down one dark 
winter's night, and suspended at the door of the head-master 
of his day. In the morning, when he rushed out in the twilight 
to go to chapel, being habitually too late, and always in a 
hurry, he ran full butt against the bunch of grapes, which was 
at least as big as himself, a little man. From this it is evident 
that the word Atheist was used by the learned at Eton, not in a 
modern, but in an ancient and classical sense, meaning an 
Antitheist, rather than an Atheist ; for an opposer and con- 
temner of the gods, not one who denies their existence. 

Two or three Eton boys called another day, and begged 
their former schoolfellow to curse his father and the king, as 



44 



PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 



he used occasionally to do at school. Shelley refused, and for 
some time persisted in his refusal, saying that he had left it off; 
but as they continued to urge him, by reason of their importunity 
he suddenly broke out, and delivered, with vehemence and ani- 
mation, a string of execrations, greatly resembling in its absurd- 
ity a papal anathema ; the fulmination soon terminated in a 
hearty laugh in which we all joined. When we were alone, I 
said : 

'^ Why, you young reprobate, who in the world taught you to 
curse your father — your own father ? " 

" My grandfather. Sir Bysshe, partly ; but principally my 
friend, Dr. Lind, at Eton. When anything goes wrong at 
Field Place, my father does nothing but swear all day long 
afterwards. Whenever I have gone with my father to visit Sir 
Bysshe, he always received him with a tremendous oath, and 
continued to heap curses upon his head so long as he remained 
in the room." 

Sir Bysshe being Ogygian, gouty, and bed-ridden, the poor 
old baronet had become excessively testy and irritable; and a 
request for money instantly aggravated and inflamed every 
symptom, moved his choler, and stirred up his bile, impelling 
him irresistibly to alleviate his sufferings by the roundest 
oaths. 

Shelley's Early Writings. 

[The exact order of publication of Shelley's earliest attempts 
at authorship has not been ascertained. Three were issued in 
1810, />., Zastrozzi^ Victor and Casire, and Posthumous 
Frag?nents of Margaret Nicholson. Zastrozzi was written 
while he was at Eton, if the memory of one of his schoolfellows 
is to be trusted : " Among my latest recollections of Shelley's 
life at Eton is the publication of Zastrozsi, for which I think he 
received 40/. With part of the proceeds he gave a most mag- 
nificent banquet to eight of his friends, among whom I was in- 
cluded. I cannot now call to mind the names of the other 
guests, excepting those of two or three who are not now living.'* 
Shelley gave a banquet at Eton no doubt, but that any 



STOCKDALE'S RECOLLECTION'S. 



45 



publisher gave him 40/. for the copyright of Zastrozzi, is in- 
credible ; it would have been dear at 40 shillings. 

No copy of Victor and Cazire is known to exist, but we are 
not without knowledge concerning it, as well as Shelley's 
second romance, St. Irvyne ; or, the Rosicrucian, Both were 
published by J. J. Stockdale, a London bookseller of no note, 
who published his reminiscences of Shelley in a weekly Budget, 
edited by him in 1826-27. They are given below.] 

Stockdale's Recollections of Shelley. 

The unfortunate subject of these very slight recollections 
introduced himself to me early in the autumn of 18 10. He 
was extremely young ; I should think he did not look more 
than eighteen. With anxiety in his countenance, he requested 
me to extricate him from a pecuniary difficulty, in which he 
was involved with a printer, whose name I cannot call to mind, 
but who resided at Horsham, near to which Timothy Shelley, 
Esq., M.P., afterwards I believe made a baronet, the father 
of our poet, had a seat called Field Place. I am not quite 
certain how the difference between the poet and the printer 
was arranged ; but, after I had looked over the account, I 
know that it was paid : though, whether I assisted in the pay- 
ment by money or acceptance, I cannot remember. Be that 
as it may, on the 17th September, 18 10, I received fourteen 
hundred and eighty copies of a thin royal 8vo volume, in 
sheets, and not gathered. It was entitled ^* Original Poetry, 
by Alonzo and Cazire,"* or two names, something like them. 
The author told me that the poems were the joint production 
of himself and a friend, whose name was forgotten by me 
as soon as I heard it. I advertised the work, which was to 
be retailed at 3s. 6d., in nearly all the London papers of the 

* In The Morning- Post of September 19th, 1810, is the following advertisement; 

'■^Tkis day is Published , in royal ^vo., price 45., in boards^ 

ORIGINAL POETRY, 

By Victor and Cazire, 

Sold by Stockdale, Junior, No. 41, Pall Mall." 



46 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, 

day, seventeen in number ; but I was told that, though paid 
for, it did not appear in the Times * In many papers, how- 
ever, I saw it. I am only particular on this point, because few, 
if any, were sold in consequence, as I intimated was not un- 
likely to be the case ; though, even from these boyish trifles, 
assisted by my personal intercourse with the author, I at once 
formed the opinion that he was not an every-day character. 

In the various wrecks, to which my property has been sub- 
jected, I have recovered none of Mr. Shelley's letters, previous 
to September, 1810 ; though I attach little interest to them, 
beyond their having emanated from such a pen. 

"Field Place, September (>th^ 1810. 

'^ Sir, — I have to return you my thankful acknowledgment 

* "This omission, of which Stockdale had no doubt, was, he considers, done de- 
signedly. In this supposition the publisher must have had a consciousness that at 
some period of his career a certain watchfulness and caution were occasionally exer- 
cised in the offices of respectable journals before advertisements from the house of 
* Stockdale Junior ' were given to the public. This, however, refers to a later stage 
of his business. In 1810 he had not commenced that downward course that ended in 
his ruin. For more than half a century the house of Stockdale had been an eminent 
one. The elder Stockdale and his sons had carried on a respectable and extensive 
business in Piccadilly before and after John Joseph had set up for himself in Pall 
Mall. Theology'-, history'-, and fiction issued continually under their name. They 
were in great request among amateur poets and poetesses, who, if they could ' write,' 
could also pay 'with ease.' The lady song-birds flocked to them by hundreds. I 
have seen a large collection of poetical works written exclusively by' women, the 
greater part of which was published by the Stockdales. Among these was Mary 
Stockdale' s Effusions of the Heart, a volume published in 1790, by her father, 
John Stockdale. 

The house being thus established for the production of this not very dangerous class 
of literature, the statement that an advertisement of a harmless book of juvenile 
poetry like Victor a7id Cazire was deliberately suppressed by The Times seemed 
very improbable. An examination of the file of The Times for 18 10 removed all 
doubt upon the point. Mr. Garnett had found in The Morning- Chro7iicle of Sep- 
tember i8th an advertisement of the volume, but twenty-four days later — that is, on 
Friday, October 12th — The Times contains the following : — 

** In royal 8vo, price 4J. boards. Original Poetry. By Victor and Cazire. 
Sold by Stockdale Jun., 41, Pall Mall." 

This is important as showing that the volume was on sale for more than a fortnight 
longer than Stockdale remembered it to have been. In that time some additional 
copies were doubtless sent out for review, or presented by the author and publisher to 
their friends, thus increasing the probabilities that this very interesting volume may yet 
be found." — MacCarthy, 



STOCKDALE'S RECOLLECTIONS. 



47 



for the receipt of the books, which arrived as soon as I had 
any reason to expect. The superfluity shall be balanced as 
soon as I pay for some books which I shall trouble you to bind 
for me. 

'^ I enclose you the title-page of the Poems, which, as you 
see, you have mistaken on account of the illegibility of my 
handwriting. I have had the last proof impression from my 
printer this morning, and I suppose the execution of the work 
will not be long delayed. As soon as it possibly can, it shall 
reach you, and believe me, sir, grateful for the interest you 
take in it. 

'^ I am, sir, 
^^ Your obedient humble servant, 

"• Percy B. Shelley." 

Some short time after the announcement of his poems I hap- 
pened to be perusing them with more attention than I had, till 
then, had leisure to bestow upon them, when I recognized in 
the collection one which I knew to have been written by 
Mr. M. G. Lewis, the author of '^The Monk," and I fully 
anticipated the probable vexation of the juvenile-maiden- 
author, when I communicated my discovery to Mr. P. B. 
Shelley. 

With all the ardor incidental to his character, which em- 
braced youthful honor in all its brilliancy, he expressed the 
warmest resentment at the imposition practised upon him by 
his coadjutor, and entreated me to destroy all the copies, 
of which I may say that, through the author and me, about 
"one hundred, in the whole, have been put into circulation. 
Notwithstanding their comparative demerits, this informa- 
tion may give them value in the eyes of their possessors, 
and must have the charm of novelty, perhaps, to all my 
readers. 

In due course I received the following epistle, including one, 
which is subjoined, from Messrs. Ballantyne and Co. The 
letters, I should premise, are transcribed literally, in every 
particular. 



48 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 

** Field Place, September 'zZth, 1810. 

'' Sir, — I sent, before I had the pleasure of knowing you, 
the MSS. of a poem to Messrs. Ballantyne and Co. Edinburgh ; 
they have dedined pubhshing it, with the enclosed letter. I 
now offer it to you, and depend upon your honour as a gen- 
tleman for a fair price for the copyright. It will be sent to 
you from Edinburgh. The subject is, ' The Wandering Jew.' 
As to its containing atheistical principles, I assure you I was 
wholly unaware of the fact hinted at. Your good sense will 
point out to you the impossibility of inculcating pernicious 
doctrines in a poem which, as you will see, is so totally 
abstract from any circumstances which occur under the possible 
view of mankind. 

^^ I am, sir, 
^^ Your obliged and humble servant, 

'' Percy B. Shelley. 

^' Mr. Stockdale, Bookseller, 41, Pall Mall, London." 

[Enclosed in the above \s-as the following letter from Messrs. Ballant>-ne to Shelley : — j 

"Edinburgh, Septe7nber •2\th, 1810. 

'^ Sir, — The delay which has occurred in our reply to you 
respecting the poem you have obligingly offered us for publi- 
cation, has arisen from our literary friends and advisers (at 
least such as we have confidence in) being in the country at 
this season, as is usual, and the time they have bestowed in its 
perusal. 

''' We are extremely sorry, at length, after the most mature 
deliberation, to be under the necessity of declining the honour 
of being the publishers of the present poem ; — not that we 
doubt its success, but that it is, perhaps, better suited to the 
character and liberal feeling of the English, than the bigoted 
spirit which yet pervades many cultivated minds in this country. 
Even Walter Scott is assailed on all hands at present, by our 
Scotch spiritual and evangelical magazines and instructors, for 
having promulgated atheistical doctrines in the ' Lady of the 
Lake.' 

'^ We beg you will have the goodness to advise us how it 



STOCKDALES RECOLLECTIONS. 



49 



should be returned, and we think its being consigned to the 

care of some person in London would be more likely to ensure 

its safety than addressing it to Horsham. 

*^ We are, sir, 

*' Your most obedient humble servants, 

^* John Ballantyne & Co." 

It should be observed that Mr. Shelley, having found from 
my conversation that I was not likely to publish any work 
against religion, disavowed that imputation on his poem, which, 
though long expected, did not arrive. On the 13th November, 
1 8 10, as I find by my own endorsement, I received a letter 
which, with his desire to have other books of a similar tendency 
(Godwin's Political Justice, &c.) satisfied me that he was in a 
situation of impending danger, from which the most friendly 
and cautious prudence alone could withdraw him. The letter 
was as follows : 

*' Oxford, Sunday^ November xith^ 1810. 

^^ Sir, — I wish you to obtain for me a book which answers to 
the following description. It is an Hebrew essay, demonstrat- 
ing that the Christian religion is false, and is mentioned in on^ 
of the numbers of the Christian Observer of last spring, by a 
clergyman, as an unanswerable, yet sophistical argument. If 
it is translated in Greek, Latin, or any of the European lan- 
guages, I would thank you to send it to me. 

'^ I am, sir, your humble servant, 

^' Percy B. Shelley." 

I was at this time not a little confirmed in my apprehensions 
by perusing his manuscript of St. Irvyne, the Rosicrucian, 
which I promised to revise and print for him. His ardent mind, 
and somewhat natural haughtiness of disposition, rendered him 
very impatient of control. He also knew, as his father told 
me, that he would inherit from his grandfather an estate of 
j^SGOO a-year, which would be wholly at his own disposal. His 

3 



CQ PER CY B YSSHE SHELLE Y. 

father did not appear to me, in the few conversations I had 
with him in my shop, to be particularly bright, though he did 
seem, as I thought, inchned to exercise the parental authority 
with most injudicious despotism. I was not long in discover- 
in- that be kept his son very short of money, and that he was 
es;ecially desirous of wielding the power of a father, while his 
son was too Uttle inclined to submit his own superior ta ents, 
natural and acquired, to the harsh orders of a mind utterly in- 
adequate to such an office. The consequence was that a 
mutual disposition to irritation and obstinacy produced mutual 
resistance and distrust, if not dislike and alienation. These 
details I give wholly from memory. I must continue Mr. 
Shelley's letters. 

"UNivERbiTY College, November T.i,th, 1810. 

" DEAR SIR,-I return you the romance by this day's coach 
I am much obhgated by the trouble you have taken to fi it for 
the press. I am myself by no means a good hand at correction 
but I think I have obviated the principal objections which you 

'"' Ginotti, as you will see, did not die by Wolfstein's hand 
but by the influence of that natural magic which, when the 
secret Us imparted to the latter, destroyed lum^Mountfor 
being a character of inferior import, I did not think it neces 
sary to state the catastrophe of him, as at best it could be 
but uninteresting. Eloise and Fitzeustace are married, and 
happT I uppose, and Megalena dies by the same means 
as^Sfstein.'': do not myself see any other explanaUon tha 
is required. As to the method of publishing it, I think as 
s a thing which almost mechanically sells to circulating 
libraries, &c , I would wish it to be published on my o^.n 

^"'Tam surprised that you have not received the ' Wandering 
Jew ' and in consequence write to Mr. Ballantyne to mention 
U you will doubtlessly, therefore, receive it soon.-Should 
you still perceive in the'romance any error of flagrant mcoher- 



STOCKDALE'S RECOLLECTIONS. ^y ^ 

ency, &c., it must be altered, but I should conceive it will 
(being wholly so abrupt) not require it. 

" I am, 
'^ Your sincere humble servant, 

'^ Percy B. Shelley. 
^' Shall you make this in one or two volumes ? Mr. Robin- 
son, of Paternoster Row, published ' Zastrozzi.' " 

"Uni. Coll., Monday \-i^tk Nov.^ 1810]. 

'^ My Dear Sir, — I did not think it possible that the ro- 
mance would make but one small volume. It will at all events 
be larger than * Zastrozzi.* What I mean as * Rosicrucian ' is, 
the elixir of eternal life which Ginotti had obtained. Mr. 
Godwin's romance of ^ St. Leon ' turns upon that superstition. 
I enveloped it in mystery for the greater excitement of interest, 
and, on a re-examination, you will perceive that Mountfort 
physically did kill Ginotti, which must appear from the latter's 
paleness. 

'^ Will you have the goodness to send me Mr. Godwin's 
' Political Justice?' 

'' When do you suppose ^ St. Irvyne ' will be out ? If you 
have not yet got the ' Wandering Jew' from Mr. B., I will send 
you a MSS. copy which I possess. 

^' Yours sincerely, 
'^P. B. Shelley. 

'' Mr. Stockdale, Bookseller, 41, Pall Mall, London.'' 

" Oxford, Dec, 2^, 1810. 

'^Dear Sir, — Will you, if you have got two copies of the 
' Wandering Jew,' send one of them to me, as I have thought 
of some corrections which I wish to make ? Your opinion on 
it will likewise much oblige me. 

** When do you suppose that Southey's ' Curse of Kehama' 
will come out ^ I am curious to see it, and when does ' St. 
Irvyne ' come out ? 



t£, PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, 

" I shall be in London the middle of this month, when I will 
do myself the pleasure of calling on you. 

' ' Yours sincerely, 

''P. B. Shelley. 
^*Mr. Stockdale, Bookseller, 41, Pall Mall, London." 

"Field Place, Dec. \Zth^ 1810. 

^' My Dear Sir, — I saw your advertisement of the Romance, 
and approve of it highly ; it is likely to excite curiosity. I 
would thank you to send copies directed as follows : — 

Miss Marshall, Horsham, Sussex. 

T. Medwin, Esq., Horsham, Sussex. 

T. J. Hogg, Esq., Rev. — DayrelFs, Lynnington Dayrell, 
Buckingham, 
and six copies to myself. In case the ' Curse of Kehama ' has 
yet appeared, I w^ould thank you for that likewise. I have in 
preparation a novel ; it is principally constructed to convey 
metaphysical and political opinions by way of conversation. It 
shall be sent to you as soon as completed, but it shall receive 
more correction than I trouble myself to give to wild romance 
and poetry. 

'' Mr. Munday, of Oxford,* will take some romances ; I do 
not know whether he sends directly to you, or through the 
medium of some other bookseller. I will enclose the printer's 
account for your inspection in a future letter. 

Dear sir, 

Yours sincerely, 

'' Mr. Stockdale. P. B. Shelley." 

"Field Place, -z-^rd Dec. 18 10. 

^' Sir, — I take the earliest opportunity of expressing to you my 
best thanks for the very liberal and handsome manner in which 
you imparted to me the sentiments you held towards my son, 
and the open and friendly communication. 

'' I shall ever esteem it, and hold it in remembrance. I will 

* The publisher of Margaret Nicholson. 



STOCKDALE'S RECOLLECTIONS. 53 

take an opportunity of calling on you again, when the call at 
St. Stephen's Chapel enforces my attendance by a call of the 
House. 

" My son begs to make his compliments to you. 

'^ I have the honor to be, sir, 
^^ Your very obedient humble servant, 
'' Mr. Stockdale. T. Shelley.'' 

" January xxth, 1811. 

*^ Dear Sir, — I would thank you to send a copy of * St. 
Irvyne' to Miss Harriet Westbrook, lo, Chapel Street, Gros- 
venor Square. In the course of a fortnight I shall do myself 
the pleasure of calling on you. With respect to the printer's 
bill, I made him explain the distinctions of the costs, which I 
hope are intelligible. 

*' Do you find that the public are captivated by the title-page 
of ' St. Irvyne ? ' 

^' Your sincere 

''Mr. Stockdale. P. B. Shelley." 

About this time not merely slight hints, but constant allu- 
sions, personally and by letters, which are mislaid, lost, or de- 
stroyed, rendered me extremely uneasy respecting Mr. Shelley's 
religious or indeed irreligious sentiments, towards which all his 
conversation, reading, and pursuits clearly tended. I felt cer- 
tain that The Wandering Jew had disclosed such sentiments as 
had excited Ballantyne's alarm, which I much regretted having 
been expressed in a way far from discouraging to their promul- 
gation. It is singular that, after all, the poem of The Wander- 
ing Jew never reached my hands, nor have I either seen or 
heard of it, from that time. 

I was more decided than ever that Shelley had some com- 
panions, who pandered to his unhappy predisposition against 
revealed religion. I had already given some delicate hints on 
that subject to his father, who was not the quickest in the world 
at comprehending anything less conspicuous than a pike-staff. 
I had told him what my own mode of action would have been 



54 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, 

towards a son so wTetchedly deluded. But I could make very 
little way. Notwithstanding his father had expressed such de- 
light and obligation for the interest I had given proofs of feeling 
for his son, when, by the appearance of St. Irvyne, he found 
that his son had probably incurred some expense, for which he 
knew that he must stand indebted to me, he told me that he was 
not of age, and that he, his father, would never pay a farthing of 
it. I repeated my expressions (and they really emanated from 
my heart) of the fullest assurance of his son's honor and recti- 
tude, and my conviction that he would vegetate, rather than 
live, to effect the discharge of every honest claim upon him. I 
will now^ repeat that such opinion has not been shaken, although 
I have never received, directly or indirectly, one farthing of 
my just claim, which, principal and interest together, cannot 
be less than £'}po. 

Young Mr. Shelley's readiness in conceding his opinion to 
n>e, even on his most enthusiastic topics, convinced me, as I 
strove to explain to his father, that a sound, steady friend,, who 
would enter into his son's feelings with correspondent warmth 
might (&c). I was too fatally convinced that all my efforts had 
been vain ; and that the work of the destroyer was in active 
operation by the very means which I had, in such good time, 
suggested for, shall I not say his salvation. 

Mr. Jefferson Hogg had called upon me occasionally, as Mr. 
Bysshe Shelley's friend, at his request ; but I really did not 
credit that, with, as I thought, a mind so infinitely beneath 
that of his friend, he could be the master spirit to lead him 
astray ; but seeing, by Vlx. Hogg's address, that he was con- 
nected, in some w*ay, with the worthy Rev. John Dayrell, of 
Lynnington Dayrell, not far from my wife's native place, and 
that Shelley was unquestionably in a most devious path, I in- 
quired of Mrs. Stockdale's possible knowledge of him. 

Mrs. Stockdale's recollection and inquiry left no doubt on 
my mind that if I did not rush fonvard, and, however rudely, 
pull my young candidate for the bays from the precipice, over 
which he was suspended by a hair, his fate must be inevitable. 

Shelley had informed me, either verbally, or by letter, or, 



STOCK-DALE'S RECOLLECTIONS. 



55 



not improbably, by both, of his having completed a meta- 
physical essay, in support of Atheism, and which he intended 
to promulgate throughout the university. I represented that 
his expulsion would be the inevitable consequence of so flag- 
rant an insult to such a body. He however, was unmoved, 
and I instantly wrote to his father explicitly enough for any 
other person than himself. 

" Oxford, omh of January, 1811. 

^' Sir, — On my arrival at Oxford, my friend Mr. Hogg com- 
municated to me the Jetters which passed in consequence of 
your misrepresentations of his character, the abuse of that 
confidence which he invariably reposed in you. I now, sir, de- 
sire to know whether you mean the evasions in your first letter 
to Mr. Hogg, your insulting ^//^m// at coolness in your second, 
as a means of escaping safely from the opprobrium naturally 
attached to so ungentlemanlike an abuse of confidence (to say 
nothing of misrepresentations) as that which my father com- 
municated to me, or as a denial of the fact of having acted in 
this unprecedented, this scandalous manner. If the former be 
your intention, I will compassionate your cowardice, and my 
friend, pitying your weakness, will take no further notice of 
your contemptible attempts at calumny. If the latter is your 
intention, I feel it my duty to declare, as my veracity and that 
of my father is thereby called in question, that I will never be 
satisfied, despicable as I may consider the author of that affront, 
until my friend has ample apology for the injury you have at- 
tempted to do him. I expect an immediate, and dema7td a 
satisfactory letter. 

^^ Sir, I am, 
'^ Your obedient and humble servant, 

'* Percy B. Shelley. 

" Mr. J. J. Stockdale, Bookseller, 41 Pall Mall, London." 

** FiFLD Place, 30^?/^ of January, 1811. 

^^ Sir, — I am so surprised on the receipt of your letter of 
this morning, that I cannot comprehend the meaning of the 



56 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 

language you use. I shall be in London next week, and will 
then call on you. 

^' I am, sir, 
*' Your obedient humble servant, 
'' T. Shelley. 
'' Mr. Stockdale, Bookseller, Pall Mall, London." 

On Mr. Shelley's arrival in London, he called, agreeably to 
his promise, and I gave him such particulars as the urgency of 
the case required. The consequence was, as but too often 
happens, that all concerned became in^imical to me. I had 
satisfied my own feelings at the expense of my purse ; and 
how much those feelings were aggravated by the arrival of 
news of the catastrophe which I had too truly predicted, I shall 
not attempt to describe. On Mr. Bysshe Shelley's arrival in 
London, he, on the nth of April, wrote me the following brief 
letter, for we had already met for the last time. 

'* 15 Poland Street, Oxford Street. 

^^ Sir, — Will you have the goodness to inform me of the 
number of copies which you have sold of * St. Irvyne ' ? Cir- 
cumstances may occur which will oblige me, in case of their 
event, to wish for my accounts suddenly ; perhaps you had 
better make them out. 

'' Sir, 
'^ Your obedient humble servant, 
'' P. B. Shelley. 
, '' Mr. Stockdale, 41 Pall Mall." 

*^ Sir, — Your letter has at length reached me ; the remote- 
ness of my present situation must apologize for my apparent 
neglect. I am sorry to say, in answer to your requisition, that 
the state of my finances render immediate payment perfectly 
impossible. It is my intention, at the earliest period of my 
power to do so, to discharge your account. I am aware of the 
imprudence of publishing a book so ill-digested as ^ St. Ir- 
vyne ; ' but are there no expectations on the profits of its sale ? 



SHELLEY READLNG PLATO, 57 

My studies have, since my writing it, been of a more serious 
nature. I am at present engaged in completing a series of 
moral and metaphysical essays — perhaps their copyright would 
be accepted in lieu of part of my debt ? 

" Sir, I have the honor to be, 
*' Your very humble servant, 
'' Percy B. Shelley. 

"CwMELAN, Rhayader, Radnorshire, August \st^ 181 1." 

Shelley reading Plato. 

We are told in the editor's preface to the '' Poetical Works 
of Shelley," that it was not until he resided in Italy that he 
made Plato his study. If it be meant, as no doubt it is, that 
he did not study Plato in the oiiginal, the assertion is correct. 
It would be absurd to affirm that a profound, accurate, critical 
knowledge of the author may be acquired through the medium 
of traslations, and at second-hand by abstracts and abridg- 
ments. But enough of the philosopher's doctrines and princi- 
ples may be, and were, in fact, imbibed at Oxford, and at an 
early age, without consulting the Greek text to convince him 
of the incorrectness and inconclusiveness, of the dangers 
indeed, of the reasonings and conclusions of the school of 
Locke and his disciples. Many of the tenets of Plato, of Soc- 
rates their common master, are exhibited by Xenophon, whose 
writings we had already read in the original. The English 
version of the French translation by Dacier of the '' Phaedo," 
and several other dialogues of Plato_, was the first book we 
had, and this we read together several times very attentively 
at Oxford. We had a French translation of the ''' Republic ; " 
and we perused with infinite pleasure the elegant translation of 
Floyer Sydenham. We had several of the publications of the 
learned and eccentric Platonist, Thomas Taylor. In truth, it 
would be tedious to specify and describe all the reflected lights 
borrowed from the great luminary, the sun of the Academy, 
that illumined the path of two young students. That Shelley 
had not read any portion of Plato in the original before he 
went to Italy, is not strictly true. He had a very legible 

3* 



58 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 

edition of the Works of Plato in several volumes ; a charming 
edition, the Bipont, I think, and I have read passages out of it 
with him. I remember going up to London with him from 
Marlow one morning ; he took a volume of Plato with him, 
and we read a good deal of it together, sitting side by side on 
the top of the coach. Phaedrus, I am pretty sure, was the 
dialogue — on beauty. 

The Wandering Jew. 

Before Shelley came to Oxford, he composed a tale, or a 
fragment of a tale, on the subject of the Wandering Jew, giving 
to him, however, the name of a Persian, not of a Jew — 
Ahasuerus, Artaxerxes. This no learned, accurate German 
would have done. That he found the composition in the streets 
of London is an integral portion of the fiction. '^ This frag- 
ment is the translation of part of some German work, the title 
of which I have vainly endeavored to discover. I picked it up, 
dirty and torn, some years ago, in Lincoln's Inn Fields." 

It is a common device to add to the interest of a romance by 
asserting that the MS. was discovered in a cavern, in a casket ; 
that it had lain long hidden in an old chest, or a tomb. From 
the preface of Dictys the Cretan, whose history of the Trojan 
war was discovered, we are told, in Crete, the author's tomb 
having been opened by an earthquake, down to the most mod- 
ern fictions, this embellishment has been in constant use. Re- 
specting the finding of this fragment, some have affirmed one 
thing, and some another. It has been said that it was part of 
a printed book in the German language. If it had been in 
German, Shelley could not have translated it at that time, for 
he did not know a word of German. The study of that tongue 
— being both equally ignorant of it — we commenced together 
in 1815. Of this our joint study hereafter. Somebody or other, 
determined not to be left behind in the race, declares that he 
found it himself, if I mistake not, and presented it to Shelley. 
Was not this worthy gentleman also present at Gnossus when 
the tablets of Dictys were brought to light by the earthquake ? 

A portion of the fragment has been printed in the notes to 



THE WANDERING JEW, 59 

*' Queen Mab." I have amongst Shelley's papers a fragment 
of the fragment, in his handwriting. It is one leaf only, and 
it appears to be the last, the conclusion of the story. The last 
sentence has never been printed ; it presents the narrative 
of the sufferings of Ahasuerus in a totally different point of 
view with reference to moral and religious considerations, and 
is therefore not undeserving attention. 

Fragment of The Wandering Jew. 

did the elephant trample on me, in vain the iron hoof of 

the wrathful steed. The mine, big with destructive power, 
burst upon me and hurled me high in the air. I fell down upon 
a heap of smoking limbs, but was only singed. The giant's 
steel club rebounded from my body. The executioner's hand 
could not strangle me ; nor would the hungry lion in the circus 
devour me ; I cohabited with poisonous snakes ; I pinched the 
red crest of the dragon ; the serpent stung, but could not kill 
me ; the dragon tormented, but could not devour me. I now 
provoked the fury of tyrants. I said to Nero, ^' Thou art a 
bloodhound ; " said to Christern, *^ Thou art a bloodhound ; " 
said to Muley Ismail, '^ Thou art a bloodhound." The tyrants 
invented cruel torments, but could not kill me. Ha ! Not to 
be able to die ; not to be permitted to rest after the toils of life ; 
to be doomed for ever to be imprisoned in this clay formed 
dungeon ; to be for ever clogged with this worthless body, its 
load of diseases and infirmities ; to be condemned to hold for 
millenniums that yawning monster. Time, that hungry hyena, 
ever bearing children, ever devouring again her offspring. 

Ha ! Not to be permitted to die ! Awful Avenger in Heaven, 
hast Thou in Thine armoury of wrath a punishment more dread- 
ful ? Then let it thunder upon me. Command a hurricane to 
sweep me down to the foot of Carmel, that I there may lie ex- 
tended, may pant, and writhe, and die! 

And Ahasuerus dropped down. Night covered his bristly 
eyelid. The Angel bore me back to the cavern. '^ Sleep here," 
said the Angel, ^^ sleep in peace ; the wrath of thy Judge is ap- 
peased ; when thou shalt awake, He will be arrived, He whose 



60 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 

blood thou sawest flow upon Golgotha. Whose mercy is ex- 
tended even to thee ! '* 

Rough Draft of a Poem. 

My Dear Sir, London, May 30, 1834. 

I did not inquire, but, as you did not show it to me, I 
presume you do not possess in your inestimable collection the 
autograph of poor Shelley. I now send you a poem, or rather 
a rough draft of part of a poem, by his hand, and from his head 
and heart. The papers amongst which it was found, and other 
circumstances, lead me to believe that it was written in 18 10, 
when the young poet was but seventeen or eighteen years old. 
It is doubtless unpublished, and of a more early date than any 
of his published poems ; on all accounts, therefore, it is most 
interesting. I selected it for you soon after my return, but I 
mislaid it, and when I wrote to you the other day I could not 
find it. With kind regards to Mrs. Turner, 

I am, &c., 

T. J. Hogg. 

Dawson Turner, Esq., 
Yarmouth. 

Death. 1 

For my dagger is "bathed in the blood of the brave, 
I come, care-worn tenant of Hfe, from the grave, 
Where Innocence sleeps 'neath the peace-giving sod. 
And the good cease to tremble at Tyranny's nod ; 
I offer a calm habitation to thee, 
Say, victim of grief, wilt thou slumber with me ? 
My mansion is damp, cold silence is there, 
But it lulls in oblivion the fiends of despair. 
Not a groan of regret, not a sigh, not a breath. 
Dares dispute with grim silence the empire of Death. 
I offer a calm habitation to thee, 
Say, victim of grief, wilt thou slumber with me? 

Mortal. 

Mine eyelids are heavy : my soul seeks repose, 
It longs in thy cells to embosom its woes, 
It longs in thy cells to deposit its load, 
Where no longer the scorpions of Perfidy goad ; 



ROUGH DRAFT OF A POEM. 6 1 

Where the phantoms of Prejudice vanish away, 
And Bigotry's bloodhounds lose scent of their prey ; 
Yet tell me, dark Death, when thine empire is o'er. 
What awaits on Futurity's mist-covered shore? 

Death. 

Cease, cease, wa^nvard Mortal ! I dare not unveil 

The shadows that float on Eternity's vale ; 

Nought waits for the good, but a spirit of Love, 

That will hail their blest advent to regions above. 

For Love, Mortal, gleams thro' the gloom of my sway. 

And the shades which surround me fly fast at its ray. 

Hast thou loved ? — Then depart from these regions of hate, 

And in slumber with me blunt the arrows of fate. 

I offer a calm habitation to thee, 

Say, victim of grief, wilt thou slumber with me ? 

Mortal. 

Oh ! sweet is thy slumber ! oh ! sweet is the ray 

Which after thy night introduces the day ; 

How concealed, how persuasive, self-interest's breath, 

Tho' it floats to mine ear from the bosom of Death. 

I hoped that I quite was forgotten by all, 

Yet a lingering friend might be grieved at my fall, 

And duty forbids, tho' I languish to die. 

When departure might heave virtue's breast with a sigh. 

Oh, Death ! oh, my friend ! snatch this form to thy shrine, 

And I fear, dear destroyer, I shall not repine. 

The following unfinished verses were written at Oxford ; they 
have never been published. 

Death ! where is thy victory ? 
To triumph whilst I die, 
To triumph whilst thine ebon wing 

Infolds my shuddering soul. 
Oh, Death ! where is thy sting? 
Not when the tides of murder roll. 
When nations groan, that kings may bask in bliss. 
Death ! canst thou boast a victory such as this ? 
When in his hour of pomp and power 

His blow the mightiest murders gave, 
*Mid nature's cries the sacrifice 
Of millions to glut the grave ; 
When sunk the tyrant desolation's slave ; 
Or Freedom's life-blood streamed upon thy shrine ; 
Stern tyrant, couldst thou boast a victory such as mine? 



62 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, 

To know in dissolution's void. 

That mortals baubles sunk decay, 
That everything, but Love, destroyed 
Must perish with its kindred clay. 
Perish Ambition's crown. 
Perish her sceptered sway ; 
From Death's pale front fades Pride's fastidious frown. 
In Death's damp vault the lurid fires decay. 
That Envy lights at heaven-born Virtue's beam — 

That all the cares subside. 

Which lurk beneath the tide 

Of life's unquiet stream. 

Yes ! this is victory ! 
And on yon rock, whose dark form glooms the sky, 
To stretch these pale limbs, when the soul is fled ; 
To baffle the lean passions of their prey, 

To sleep within the palace of the dead ! 
Oh ! not the King, around whose dazzling throne 
His coundess courtiers mock the words they say. 
Triumphs amid the bud of glory blown, 
As I in this cold bed, and faint expiring groan ! 

Tremble, ye proud, whose grandeur mocks the woe, 
Which props the column of unnatural state. 
You the plainings faint and low, 
From misery's tortured soul that flow, 
Shall usher to your fate. 

Tremble, ye conquerors, at whose fell command 
The war-fiend riots o'er a peaceful land. 

You desolation's gory throng 

Shall bear from Victory along 
To that mysterious strand. 

A Poem by Shelley's Sister. 

Cold, cold is the blast when December is howling, 

Cold are the damps on a dying man's brow. 
Stern are the seas, when the wild waves are rolling. 

And sad the grave where a loved one lies low. 
But colder is scorn from the being who loved thee. 

More stem is the sneer from the friend who has proved thee, 
More sad are the tears when these sorrows have moved thee, 

Which mixed with groans, anguish, and wild madness flow. 

And, ah ! poor I>ouIsa has felt all this horror ; 

Full long the fallen victim contended with fate. 
Till a destitute outcast, abandoned to sorrow, 

She sought her babe's food at her miner's gate. 



A POEM BY SHELLEY'S SISTER. 63 

Another had charmed the remorseless betrayer, 

He turned callous aside from her moan and her prayer, — 

She said nothing, but wringing the wet from her hair, 
Crossed the dark mountain's side, tho' the hour it was late. 

*Twas on the dark summit of huge Penmanmauer 

That the form of the wasted Louisa reclined ; 
She shrieked to the ravens that croaked from afar, 

And she sighed to the gusts of the wild-sweeping wind. 
*' I call not yon clouds, where the thunder-peals rattle, 
I call not yon rocks, where the elements battle. 

But thee, perjured Henrj'-, I call thee unkind ! " 

Then she wreathed in her hair the wild flowers of the mountain, 

And, deliriously laughing, a garland entwined, 
She bedewed it with tears, then she hung o'er the fountain, 

And, laving it, cast it a prey to the wind. 
** Ah, go ! " she exclaimed, *' where the tempest is yelling ; 

*Tis unkind to be cast on the sea that is swelling ; 
But I left, a pitiless outcast, my dwelling ; 

My garments are torn — so, they say, is my mind." 

Not long lived Louisa — but over her grave 

Waved the desolate form of a storm-blasted yew, 
Around it no demons or ghosts dare to rave. 

But spirits of Peace steep her slumbers in dew. 
Then stay thy swift steps 'mid the dark mountain heather 

Tho' chill blow the wind and severe be the weather. 
For Perfidy, traveller, cannot bereave her 

Of the tears to the tombs of the innocent due ! 

Oh ! sweet Is the moonbeam that sleeps on yon fountain, 

And sweet the mild rush of the soft-sighing breeze, 
And sweet Is the glimpse of yon dimly-seen mountain 

'Neath the verdant arcades of yon shadowy trees ; 
But sweeter than all 

And ah ! she may envy the heart-shocked quarry. 

Who bids to the scenery of childhood farewell. 
She may envy the bosom all bleeding and gory, 

She may envy the sound of the drear passing knell. 
Not so deep are his woes on his death-couch reposing 

When on the last vision his dim eyes are closing. 
As the outcast 

Those notes were so sacf and so soft, that, ah ! never 
May the sound cease to vibrate on memory's ear ! 



Bysshe wrote down these verses for me at Oxford from 
memory. I was to have a complete and more correct copy of 



64 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, 

them some day. They were the composition of his sister 
Elizabeth, and he valued them highly as well as their author, 
with whom, except an occasional tiff, when she preferred less 
dry and abstruse matters to his ethical and metaphysical 
speculations, he agreed most affectionately, cordially, and per- 
fectly. I was to undertake to fall in love with her ; if I did 
not 1 had no business to go to Field Place, and he would never 
forgive me. I promised to do my best ; and, probably, it 
would not have been difficult to have kept my promise, at 
least, in a poetical sense. For any one whose age, fortune, and 
inclinations disposed him to settle in life, it might have been 
very easy to fall in love in a more earnest and practical manner, 
for she was one of those young ladies who win golden opinions 
from all their acquaintance. 

I often found Shelley reading '^ Gebir." There was some- 
thing in that poem which caught his fancy. He would read it 
aloud, or to himself sometimes, with a tiresome pertinacity. 
One morning, I went to his rooms to tell him something of 
importance, but he would attend to nothing but ^^Gebir." 
With a young impatience, I snatched the book out of the 
obstinate fellow's hand, and threw it through the open windovv 
into the quadrangle. It fell upon the grass-plat, and -was 
brought back presently by the servant. I related this incident, 
some years afterwards, and after the death of my poor friend, 
at Florence to the highly gifted author. He heard it with his 
hearty, cordial, genial laugh. '* Well, you must allow it is 
something to have produced what could please one fellow 
creature and offend another so much." 

Shelley as a Latinist. 

He composed Latin verses with singular facility. On visit- 
ing him soon after his arrival at the accustomed hour of one, 
he was writing the usual exercise which we presented, I believe, 
OQce a week — a Latin translation of a paper in the Spectator. 
He soon finished it, and as he held it before the fire to dry, I 
offered to take it from him ; he said it was not worth looking 
at ; but as I persisted, through a certain scholastic curiosity to 



SHELLEY AND HIS NEW SUIT, 65 

examine the Latinity of my new acquaintance, he gave it to 
me. The Latin was sufficiently correct, but the version was 
paraphrastic, which I observed ; he assented, and said that it 
would pass muster, and he felt no interest in such efforts, and 
no desire to excel in them. I also noticed many portions of 
heroic verses,, and even several entire verses, and these I 
pointed out as defects in a prose composition. He smiled 
archly, and asked, in his piercing whisper — ^'Do you think 
they will observe them ? I inserted them intentionally to try 
their ears ! I once showed up a theme at Eton to old Keate, 
in which there were a great many verses ; but he observed 
them, scanned them, and asked why I had introduced them ? 
I answered, that I did not know they were there ; this was 
partly true and partly false ; but he believed me, and immedi- 
ately applied to me the line, in which Ovid says of himself — 

* Et quod tentabam dicere, versus erat.' " 

Shelley then spoke of the facility with which he could com- 
pose Latin verses ; and, taking the paper ont of my hand, he 
began to put the entire translation into verse. He would some- 
times open at hazard a prose writer, as Livy, or Sallust, and by 
changing the position of the words, and occasionally substi- 
tuting others, he would transmute several sentences from 
prose to verse — to heroic, or more commonly elegiac, verse, 
for he was peculiarly charmed with the graceful and easy flow 
of the latter — with surprising rapidity and readiness. He was 
fond of displaying this accomplishment during his residence 
at Oxford, but he forgot to bring it away with him when he 
quitted the University ; or peihaps he left it behind him de- 
signedly, as being suitable to academic groves only and to the 
banks of the Isis. 

_ Shelley and his New Suit. 

I was surprised at the contrast between the general indiffer- 
ence of Shelley for the mechanical arts, and his intense admi- 
ration of a particular application of one of them the first time I 
noticed the latter peculiarity. During our residence at Oxford, 



65 • PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 

I repaired to his rooms one morning at the accustomed hour, 
and I found a tailor with him. He had expected to receive a 
new coat on the preceding evening ; it was not sent home, and 
he was mortified, I know not why, for he was commonly alto- 
gether indifferent about dress, and scarcely appeared to distin- 
guish one coat from another. He was now standing erect in 
the middle of the room in his new blue coat, with all its glitter- 
ing buttons, and to atone for the delay, the tailor vvas loudly 
extolling the beauty of the cloth and the felicity of the fit ; his 
eloquence had not been thrown away upon his customer, for 
never was man more easily persuaded than the master of per- 
suasion. The man of thimbles applied to me to vouch his 
eulogies ; I briefly assented to them. He withdrew, after some 
bows, and Shelley, snatching his hat, cried with shrill impa- 
tience : 

'' Let us go!" 

'^ Do you mean to walk in the fields in your new coat? " I 
asked. 

'^ Yes, certainly," he answered, and we sallied forth. 

We sauntered for a moderate space through lanes and bye- 
ways, until we reached a spot near to a farm-house, where ihe 
frequent trampling of much cattle had rendered the road almost 
impassable, and deep with black mud ; but by crossing the 
corner of a stack-yard, from one gate to another, we could 
tread upon clean straw, and could wholly avoid the impure and 
impracticable slough. 

We had nearly eftected the brief and commodious transit, I 
was stretching forth my hand to open the gate that led us back 
into the lane, when a lean, brindled, and most ill-favoured 
mastiff, that had stolen upon us softly over the straw unheard, 
and without barking, seized Shelley suddenly by the skirts. I 
instantly kicked the animal in the ribs with so much force, that 
I felt for some days after the influence of his gaunt bones on 
my toe. The blow caused him to flinch towards the left, and 
Shelley, turning round quickly, planted a kick in his throat, 
which sent him away sprawling, and made him retire hastily 
among the stacks, and we then entered the lane. The fury of 



SHELLEY AND HLS NEW SUL1\ 6/ 

the mastiff, and the rapid turn, had torn the skirts of the new 
blue coat across the back, just about that part of the human 
loins which our tailors, for some wise, but inscrutable purpose, 
are wont to adorn with two buttons. They were entirely sev- 
ered from the body, except a narrow strip of cloth on the left 
side, and this Shelley presently rent asunder. 

I never saw him so angry either before or since ; he vowed 
that he would bring his pistols and shoot the dog, and that he 
would proceed at law against the owner. The fidelity of the 
dog towards his master is very beautiful in theory, and there is 
much to admire and to revere in this ancient and venerable 
alliance ; but, in practice, the most unexceptionable dog is a 
nuisance to all mankind, except his master, at all times, and 
very often to him also, and a fierce surly dog is the enemy 
of the whole human race. The farm-yards, in many parts 
of England, are happily free from a pest that is formidable 
to everybody but thieves by profession ; in other districts 
savage dogs abound, and in none so much, according to my 
experience, as in the vicinity of Oxford. The neighborhood 
of a still more famous city, of Rome, is likewise infested by 
dogs, more lowering, more ferocious, and incomparably more 
powerful. 

Shelley was proceeding home with rapid strides, bearing the 
skirts of his new coat on his left arm, to procure his pistols, 
that he might wreak his vengeance upon the offending dog. I 
disliked the race, but I did not desire to take an ignoble re- 
venge upon the miserable individual. 

'' Let us try to fancy, Shelley," I said to him, as he was 
posting away in indignant silence, *' that we have been at 
Oxford, and have come back again, and that you have just laid 
the beast low — and what then ? " 

He was silent for some time, but I soon perceived, from the 
relaxation of his pace, that his anger had relaxed also. 

At last he stopped short, and taking the skirts from his arm, 
spread them upon the hedge, stood gazing at them with a 
mournful aspect, sighed deeply, and after a few moments con- 
tinued his march. 



68 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, 

^' Would it not be better to take the skirts with us ? " I in- 
quired. 

^^No," he answered, despondingly, *^let them remain as a 
spectacle for men and gods ! " 

We returned to Oxford, and made our way by back streets 
to our College. As we entered the gates, the officious scout 
remarked with astonishment Shelley's strange spenser, and 
asked for the skirts, that he might instantly carry the wreck to 
the tailor. Shelley answered, with his peculiarly pensive air, 
'' They are upon the hedge." 

The scout looked up at the clock, at Shelley, and through 
the gate into the street as it were at the same moment and with 
one eager glance, and would have run blindly in quest of them, 
but I drew the skirts from my pocket, and unfolded them, and 
he followed us to Shelley's rooms. 

We were sitting there in the evening, at tea, when the tailor 
who had praised the coat so warmly in the morning, brought it 
back as fresh as ever, and apparently uninjured. It had been 
fine-drawn; he showed how skilfully the wound had been 
healed, and he commended, at some length, the artist who had 
effected the cure. Shelley was astonished and delighted : had 
the tailor consumed the new blue coat in one of his crucibles, 
and suddenly raised it, by magical incantation, a fresh and 
purple Phoenix from, the ashes, his admiration could hardly 
have been more vivid. It might be, in this instance, that his 
joy at the unexpected restoration of a coat, for which, although 
he was utterly indifferent to dress, he had, through some un- 
accountable caprice, conceived a fondness, gave force to his 
sympathy with art ; but I have remarked in innumerable cases, 
where no personal motive could exist, that he was animated by 
all the ardor of a maker in witnessing the display of the crea- 
tive energies. 

'^ KONX Ompax." 

I was walking one afternoon, in the summer, on the western 
side of that short street leading from Long Acre to Covent 
Garden, wherein the passenger is earnestly invited, as a per- 



^' KONX OMPAXy 69 

sonal favor to the demandant, to proceed straightway to High- 
gate or to Kentish Town, and which is called, I think, James 
Street ; I was about to enter Covent Garden, when an Irish 
laborer, whom I met, bearing an empty hod, accosted me 
somewhat roughly, and asked why I had run against him ; I 
told him briefly that he was mistaken. Whether somebody 
had actually pushed the man, or he sought only to quarrel, and 
although he doubtless attended a weekly row regularly, and 
the week was already drawing to a close, he was unable to wait 
until Sunday for a broken head, I know not, but he discoursed 
for some time with the vehemence of a man who considers him- 
self injured or insulted, and he concluded, being emboldened 
by my long silence, with a cordial invitation just to push him 
again. Several persons not very unlike in costume had gath- 
ered round him, and appeared to regard him with sympathy. 
When he paused, I addressed to him slowly and quietly, and it 
should seem with great gravity, these words, as nearly as I 
can recollect them : — 

'' I have put my hand into the hamper ; I have looked upon 
the sacred barley ; I have eaten out of the drum ! I have drunk 
and was well pleased : I have said, /c6y^ ofina^, and it is fin- 
ished ! " 

^^ Have you. Sir?" inquired the astonished Irishman, and 
his ragged friends instantly pressed round him with '' Where is 
the hamper, Paddy ?" — '^ What barley ? " and the like. And 
ladies from his own country, that is to say, the basket-women, 
suddenly began to interrogate him, ^' Now, I say, Pat, where 
have you been drinking ? What have you had ? " 

I turned therefore to the right, leaving the astounded 
neophyte, whom I had thus planted, to expound the mystic 
words of initiation, as he could, to his inquisitive companions. 

As I walked slowly under the piazzas, and through the streets 
and courts, towards the west, I marvelled at the ingenuity of 
Orpheus — if he were indeed the inventor of the Eleusinian mys- 
teries — that he was able to devise words that, imperfectly as I 
had repeated them, and in the tattered fragment that has 
reached us, were able to soothe people so savage and bar- 



70 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, 

barous as those to whom I had addressed them, and which, as 
the apologists for those venerable rites affirm, were manifestly- 
well adapted to incite persons, who hear them for the first time, 
however rude they may be, to ask questions. Words, that can 
awaken curiosity, even in the sluggish intellect of a wild man, 
and can thus open the inlet of knowledge ! 

'' Konx 0J7tpax, and it is finished!" exclaimed Shelley, 
crowing with enthusiastic delight at my whimsical adventure. 
A thousand times as he strode about the house, and in his ram- 
bles out of doors, would he stop and repeat aloud the mystic 
words of initiation, but always with an energy of manner, and 
a vehemence of tone and of gesture, that would have prevented 
the ready acceptance which a calm, passionless delivery had 
once procured for them. How often would he throw down his 
book, clasp his hands, and starting from his seat, cry suddenly, 
with a thrilling voice, " I have said Konx ojnpax, and it is 
finished ! " 

Babies and Pre-existence. 

One Sunday we had been reading Plat© together so diligently 
that the usual hour of exercise passed away unperceived ; we 
sallied forth hastily to take the air for half an hour before 
dinner. In the middle of Magdalen Bridge we met a woman 
with a child in her arms. Shelley was more attentive at that 
instant to our conduct in a life that was past, or to come, than 
to a decorous regulation of the present, according to the estab- 
lished usages of society, in that* fleeting moment of eternal 
duration, styled the nineteenth century. With abrupt dexterity 
he caught hold of the child. The mother, who might well fear 
that it was about to be thrown over the parapet of the bridge 
into the sedgy waters below, held it fast by its long train. 

" Will your baby tell us anything about pre-existence, 
Madam ? " he asked, in a piercing voice, and with a wistful 
look. 

The mother made no answer, but perceiving that Shelley's 
object was not murdercus, but altogether harmless, she dis- 
missed her apprehension, and relaxed her hold. 



PATRONIZES THE PAWNBROKERS, 71 

''Will your baby tell us anything about pre-existence, 
Madam ? " he repeated, with unabated earnestness. 

'' He cannot speak, sir," said the mother seriously. 

" Worse and worse," cried Shelley, with an air of deep dis- 
appointment, shaking his long hair most pathetically about his 
young face ; " but surely the babe can speak if he will, for he 
is only a few weeks old. He may fancy perhaps that he can- 
not, but it is only a silly whim ; he cannot have forgotten en- 
tirely the use of speech in so short a time ; the thing is abso- 
lutely impossible." 

''It is not for me to dispute with you, gentlemen," the 
woman -meekly replied, her eye glancing at our academical 
garb ; '' but I can safely declare that I never heard him speak 
nor any child, indeed, of his age." ' 

It was a fine placid boy ; so far from being disturbed by the 
interruption, he looked up and smiled. Shelley pressed his 
fat cheeks with his fingers, we commended his healthy appear- 
ance and his equanimity, and the mother was permitted to 
proceed, probably to her satisfaction, for she would doubtless 
prefer a less speculative nurse. Shelley sighed deeply as we 
walked on. 

"How provokingly close are those new-boin babes ! " he 
ejaculated; '^ but it is not the less certain, notwithstandino- 
the cunnmg attempts to conceal the truth, that all knowledge 
IS reminiscence ; the doctrine is far more ancient than the 
times of Plato, and as old as the venerable allegory that the 
Muses are the daughters of Memory ; not one of the nine was 
ever said to be the child of Invention ! " 

Patronizes the Pawnbrokers. 
Whenever Shelley was imprisoned in London— for to a poet 
a close and crowded city must be a dreary jail— his steps 
would take the direction of Kentish Town unless his residence 
was too remote, or he was accompanied by one who chose to 
guide his walk. On this occasion I was led thither, as indeed 
I had anticipated ; the weather was fine, but the autumn was 
already advanced ; we had not sauntered long in these fields 



72 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, 

when the dusky evening closed in, and the darkness gradually 
thickened. 

^' How black those trees are," said Shelley, stopping short, 
and pointing to a row of elms ; ^^ it is so dark the trees might 
well be houses, and the turf, pavement, — the eye would sustain 
no loss ; it is useless therefore to remain here, let us return." 
He proposed tea at his hotel ; I assented ; and hastily button- 
ing his coat, he seized my arm, and set off at his great pace, 
striding with bent knees over the fields and through the narrow 
streets. We were crossing the New Road, when he said 
shortly, ^^ I must call for a moment, but it will not be out of 
the way at all," and then dragged me suddenly towards the 
left. I inquired whither w^e were bound, and, I believe, I sug- 
gested the postponement of the intended call till the morrow. 
He answered, it was not at all out of our way. 

I w^as hurried along rapidly towards the left ; we soon fell 
into an animated discussion respecting the nature of the virtue 
of the Romans, w^hich in some measure beguiled the weary 
way. Whilst he was talking with much vehemence and a total 
disregard of the people who thronged the streets, he suddenly 
wheeled about and pushed me through a narrow door ; to my 
infinite surprise I found myself in a pawnbroker's shop ! It 
was in the neighborhood of Newgate Street ; for he had no 
idea whatever in practice either of time or space, nor did he 
in any degree regard method in the conduct of business. 

There were several women in the shop in brown and gray 
cloaks with squalling children ; some of them were attempting 
to persuade the children to be quiet, or at least to scream with 
moderation ; the others were enlarging upon and pointing out 
the beauties of certain coarse and dirty sheets that lay before 
them to a man on the other side of the counter. 

I bore this substitute for our proposed tea some minutes w^ith 
tolerable patience, but as the call did not promise to terminate 
speedily, I said to Shelley, in a whisper, '^ Is not this almost as 
bad as the Roman virtue ? " Upon this he approached the 
pawnbroker ; it was long before he could obtain a hearing, 
and he did not find civility. The man was umvilling to part with 



PATRONIZES THE PAWNBROKERS. 



73 



I 



a valuable pledge so soon, or perhaps he hoped to retain it 
eventually ; or it might be, that the obliquity of his nature 
disqualified him for respectful behavior. 

A pawnbroker is frequently an important witness in criminal 
proceedings ; it has happened to me, therefore, afterwards to 
see many specimens of this kind of banker ; they sometimes 
appeared not less respectable than other tradesmen, and some- 
times I have been forcibly reminded of the first I ever met 
with, by an equally ill-conditioned fellow. I was so little 
pleased with the introduction, that I stood aloof in the shop, 
and did not hear what passed between him and Shelley. 

On our way to Covent-Garden, I expressed my surprise and 
dissatisfaction at our strange visit, and I learned that when he 
came to London before, in the course of the summer, some 
old man had related to him a tale of distress, — of a calamity 
which could only be alleviated by the timely application of ten 
pounds ; five of them he drew at once from his pocket, and to 
raise the other five he had pawned his beautiful solar microscope ! 
He related this act of beneficence simply and briefly, as if it 
were a matter of course, and such indeed it was to him. I 
was ashamed of my impatience, and we strode along in silence. 

It was past ten when we reached the hotel ; some excellent 
tea and a liberal supply of hot muffins in the coffee-room, now 
quiet and solitary, were the more grateful after the wearisome 
delay and vast deviation. Shelley often turned his head, and 
cast eager glances towards the door ; and whenever the waiter 
replenished our teapot, or approached our box, he was interro- 
gated whether any one had yet called. 

At last the desired summons was brought ; Shelley drew 
forth some bank notes, hurried to the bar, and returned as 
hastily, bearing in triumph under his arm a mahogany box, 
followed by the officious waiter, with whose assistance he placed 
it upon the bench by his side. He viewed it often with evident 
satisfaction, and sometimes patted it affectionately in the 
course of calm conversation. The solar microscope was always 
a favorite plaything or instrument of scientific inquiry ; when- 
ever he entered a house his first care was to choose some 

4 



74 



PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 



window of a southern aspect, and, if permission could be 
obtained by prayer or by purchase, straightway to. cut a hole 
through the shutter to receive it. 

His regard for his solar microscope was as lasting as it was 
strong ; for he retained it several years after this adventure, 
and long after he had parted with all the rest of his philo- 
sophical apparatus. 

Margaret Nicholson. 

Shelley was was quick to conceive, and not less quick to 
execute. When I called one morning at one, I found him 
busily occupied with some proofs, which he continued to cor- 
rect and re-correct with anxious care. As he was wholly ab- 
sorbed in this occupation, I selected a book from the floor, 
where there was always a good store, and read in silence, for 
at least an hour. 

My thoughts being as completely abstracted as those of my 
companion, he startled me by suddenly throwing a paper with 
some force on the middle of the table, and saying, in a pene- 
trating whisper, as he sprung eagerly from his chair, *' I am 
going to publish some poems." 

In answer to my inquiries, he put the proofs into my hands. 
I read them twice attentively, for the poems were very short ; 
and I told him there were some good lines, some bright thoughts, 
but there were likewise many irregularities and incongruities. 
I added, that correctness was important in all compositions, 
but it constituted the essence of short ones ; and that it surely 
would be imprudent to bring his little book out so hastily ; and 
I then pointed out the errors and defects. 

He listened in silence wdth much attention, and did not dis- 
pute what I said, except that he remarked faintly that it would 
not be known that he was the author, and therefore the publi- 
cation could not do him any harm. 

I answered, that although it might not be disadvantageous to 
be the unknown author of an unread work, it certainly could 
not be beneficial. 



MARGARET NICHOLSON. 



75 



He made no reply ; and we immediately went out, and 
strolled about the public walks. 

We dined, and returned to his rooms, vvhere we conversed 
on indifferent subjects. He did not mention his poems, but they 
occupied his thoughts; for he did not fall asleep as usual. 
Whilst we were at tea, he said abruptly, ^^ I think you dis- 
parage my poems. Tell me what you dislike in them, for I 
have forgotten." 

I took the proofs from the place where I had left them, and 
looking over them, repeated the former objections, and sug- 
gested others. He acquiesced ; and, after a pause, asked, 
might they be altered ? 1 assented. 

'^ I will alter them." 

*' It will be better to rewrite them ; a short poem should be 
of the first impression." 

Some t;me afterwards he anxiously inquired — '' But in their 
present form you do not think they ought to be published ? " 

I had been looking over the proofs again, and I answered : 
*' Only as burlesque poetry ; " and I read a part, changing it a 
little here and there. 

He laughed at the parody, and begged I would repeat it. 

I took a pen and altered it ; and he then read it aloud several 
times in a ridiculous tone, and was amused by it. His mirth 
consoled him for the condemnation of his verses, and the in- 
tention of publishing them was abandoned. 

The proofs lay in his rooms for some days, and we occasion- 
ally amused ourselves during an idle moment by making them 
more and more ridiculous ; by striking out the more sober 
passages ; by inserting whimsical conceits ; and especially by 
giving them what we called a dithyrambic character, which was 
effected by cutting some lines in two, and joining the different 
parts together that would agree in construction, but were the 
most discordant in sense.* 

* " It is necessary here to interrupt Mr. Hogg for a moment. The Posthumous Frag-- 
nienis of Margaret Nicholson, though a rare volume, is not inaccessible. A copy of 
the original edition is in the British Museum, and a facsimile reprint, of which a 
limited number of copies were issued some time ago, may be seen without much diffi- 



76 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, 

When we had conferred a competent absurdity upon the 
proofs, we amused ourselves by proposing, but without the in- 
tention of executing our project, divers ludicrous titles for the 
work. Sometimes we thought of publishing it in the name of 
some one of the chief living poets, or possibly of one of the 
graver authorities of the day ; and we regaled ourselves by 
describing his wrathful renunciations, and his astonishment at 
finding himself immortalized, without his knowledge and against 
his will : the inability to die could not be more disagreeable 
even to Tithonus himself; but how were we to handcuff our 
ungrateful favorite, that he might not tear off the unfading 
laurel, which we were to place upon his brow ? I hit upon a 
title at last, to which the pre-eminence was given, and we in- 
scribed it upon the cover. A mad washerwoman, named Peg 
Nicholson, had attempted to stab the King, George the Third, 
with a carving-knife ; the story has long been forgotten, but it 
was then fresh in the recollection of every one ; it was proposed 
that we should ascribe the poems to her. The poor woman 
was still living, and in green vigor within the walls of Bed- 
lam ; but since her existence must be uncomfortable, there 
could be no harm in putting her to death, and in creating a 
nephew and administrator to be the editor of his aunt's poetical 
works. 

The idea gave an object and purpose to our burlesque ; to 
ridicule the strange mixture of sentimentality with the murder- 
ous fury of revolutionists, that was so prevalent in the compo- 

culty. The poems, with the exception of the first, which extends to eighty-eight lines 
in couplets, are also given in Mr. Rossetti's edition, (vol. ii. p. 511.) They are thus 
within the reach of all, and it will be found that in no single respect do they bear out 
the description of Mr. Hogg. There is no intentional burlesque traceable in them. 
There is no example of this process of cutting lines in two, and then joining them, so 
as to agree in construction but to differ in sense. Indeed Mr. Hogg seems to have 
had a misgiving, after all this display of his own drollery and cleverness, that some day 
or the other his statements would be examined and his description put to the test. This 
difficulty did not put him to much inconvenience. Three pages later he introduces 
this saving clause, which is highly creditable to his professional skill: 'The work, 
however, was altered a little, I believe, before the Jirial impression ; but / never 
read it afterivards ' (vol. i. p. 267) — a statement that may well be believed after his 
utterly erroneous description of its character and contents." — MacCartky. 



MARGARET NICHOLSON, yj 

sitions of the day ; and the proofs were altered again to adapt 
them to this new scheme, but still without any notion of pub- 
lication. When the bookseller called to ask for the proofs, 
Shelley told him that he had changed his mind, and showed 
them to him. 

The man was so much pleased with the whimsical conceit, 
that he asked to be permitted to publish the book on his own 
account ; promising inviolable secrecy, and as many copies 
gratis as might be required : after some hesitation, permission 
was granted, upon the plighted honor of the trade. 

In a few days, or rather in a few hours, a noble quarto ap- 
peared ; it consisted of a small number of pages, it is true, but 
they were of the largest size, of the thickest, the whitest, and 
the smoothest drawing-paper ; a large, clear, and handsome 
type had impressed a few lines with ink of a rich glossy black, 
amidst ample margins. The poor maniac laundress was gravely 
styled *' the late Mrs. Margaret Nicholson, widow;" and the 
sonorous name of Fitzvictor had been culled for her inconsola- 
ble nephew and administrator : to add to his dignity, the 
waggish printer had picked up some huge text types, of so un- 
usual a form, that even an antiquary could not spell the words 
at the first glance. The effect was certainly striking : Shelley 
had torn open the large square bundle, before the printer's boy 
quitted the room, and holding out a copy with both his hands, 
he ran about in an ecstasy of delight, gazing at the superb title- 
page. 

The first poem was a long one, condemning war in the lump ; 
puling trash, that might have been written by a quaker, and 
could only have been published in sober sadness by a society 
instituted for the diffusion of that kind of knowledge which they 
deem useful — useful for some end which they have not been 
pleased to reveal, and which unassisted reason is wholly unable 
to discover. The MS. had been confided to Shelley by some 
rhymester of the day, and it was put forth in this shape 
to astonish a weak mind ; but principally to captivate the 
admirers of philosophical poetry by the manifest incongruity 
of disallowing all war, even the most just, and then turning 



78 



PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 



sharp round and recommending the dagger of the assassin as 
the best cure for all evils, and the sure passport to a lady's 
favor. 

Our book of useful knowledge — the philosopher's own book 
— contained sundry odes and other pieces, professing an ardent 
attachment to freedom, and proposing to stab all who were less 
enthusiastic than the supposed authoress. The work, however, 
was altered a little, I believe, before the final impression ; but 
I never read it afterwards, for when an author once sees his 
book in print, his task is ended, and he may fairly leave the 
perusal of it to posterity. I have one copy, if not more, some- 
where or other, but not at hand. There were some verses, I 
remember, with a good deal about sucking in them ; to the:e I 
objected, as unsuitable to the gravity of an university, but 
Shelley declared they would be the most impressive of all. 
There was a poem concerning a young woman, one Charlotte 
Somebody, who attempted to assassinate Robespierre, or some 
such person ; * and there was to have been a rapturous mono- 
logue to the dagger of Brutus. The composition of such a 
piece was no mean effort of the muse ; it was completed at 
last, but not in time — as the dagger itself has probably fallen 
a prey to rust, so the more pointed and polished monologue, 
it is to be feared, has also perished through a more culpable 
neglect. 

A few copies were sent, as a special favor, to trusty and 
sagacious friends at a distance, whose gravity would not permit 
them to suspect a hoax ; they read and admired, being charmed 
v/ith the wild notes of liberty ; some, indeed, presumed to cen 
sure, mildly, certain passages as having been thrown off in too 



* " Poor Margaret Nicholson's happily unsuccessful attempt on the life of the king 
preceded by seven years the famous act of tyrannicide perpetrated by Charlotte Cor- 
day in 1793, not on Robespierre, but on Marat. Careless of the anachronism, Mr. 
Hogg boldly assigned the poem to the * mad washerwoman ' as a happy stroke of 
humor. The supposed authoress speaks in the first poem of 'wife and children ; ' 
this, too, must be taken as a delicious bit of burlesque, in making Mrs. Nicholson 
imagine herself to }iave been a man and a father. On the whole, we cannot but think 
that the poems would have fared all the better had they been pubhshed by Shelley, as 
they evidently were written by him, as serious compositions." — MacCarthy, 



THE NECESSITY OF ATHEISM. 79 

bold a vein. Nor was a certain success wanting, — the remain- 
ing copies were rapidly sold in Oxford at the aristocratical price 
of half-a-crown for half-a-dozen pages. We used to meet 
gownsmen in High-street reading the goodly volume as they 
walked — pensive with a grave and sage delight — some of them, 
perhaps, more pensive, because it seemed to portend the 
instant overthrow of all royalty, from a king to a court-card. 

What a strange delusion to admire our stuff — the concen- 
trated essence of nonsense ! It was indeed a kind of fashion to 
be seen reading it in public, as a mark of a nice discernment, 
of a delicate and fastidious taste in poetry, and the very crite- 
rion of a choice spirit. 

Nobody suspected, or could suspect, who was the author ; 
the thing passed off as the genuine production of the would-be 
regicide. It is marvellous, in truth, how little talent of any 
kind there was in our famous university in those days ; there 
was no great encouragement, however, to display intellectual 
gifts. 

The Necessity of Atheism. 

The operation of Peg Nicholson was bland and innoxious ; 
the next work that Shelley printed was highly deleterious, and 
was destined to shed a baneful influence over his future prog- 
ress ; .in itself it was more harmless than the former, but it was 
turned to a deadly poison by the unprovoked malice of fortune. 

We had read together attentively several of the metaphysi- 
cal works that were most in vogue at that time, as " Locke 
concerning Human Understanding," and '^ Hume's Essays," 
particularly the latter, of which we had made a very careful 
analysis, as was customary with those who read the Ethics and 
the other treatises of Aristotle for their degrees. Shelley had 
the custody of these papers, which were chiefly in his handwrit- 
ing, although they were the joint production of both in our 
common daily studies. From these, and from a small part of 
them only, he made up a little book, and had it printed, I be- 
lieve, in the country, certainly not at Oxford. His motive was 
this. He not only read greedily all the controversial writings 



8o PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, 

on subjects interesting to him, which he could procure, and 
disputed vehemently in conversation with his friends, but he 
had several correspondents with whom he kept up the ball of 
doubt in letters ; — of these he received many, so that the arrival 
of the postman was always an anxious moment with him. This 
practice he had learned of a physician, from whom he had 
taken instructions \vl chemistry, and of whose character and 
talents he often spoke with profound veneration. It was, in- 
deed, the usual course with men of learning formerly, as their 
biographies and many volumes of such epistles testify. The 
physician was an old man, and a man of the old school ; he 
confined his epistolary discussions to matters of science, and 
so did his disciple for some time ; but when metaphysics 
usurped the place in his affections that chemistry had before 
held, the latter gradually fell into disceptations respecting ex- 
istences still more subtle than gases and the electric fluid. The 
transition, however, from physics to metaphysics was gradual. 
Is the electric fluid material? he would ask his correspondent ; 
is light — is the vital principle in vegetables — in brutes — is the 
human soul*? 

His individual character had proved an obstacle to his in- 
quiries, even whilst they were strictly physical ; a refuted or 
irritated chemist had suddenly concluded a long correspond- 
ence by telling his youthful opponent that he would write to 
his master, and have him well flogged. The discipline of a 
public school, however salutary in other respects, was not 
favorable to free and fair discussion ; and Shelley began to 
address inquiries anonymously, or rather, that he might re- 
ceive an answer, as Philalethes, and the like ; but, even at 
Eton, the postmen do not ordinarily speak Greek — to prevent 
miscarriages, therefore, it was necessary to adopt a more famil- 
iar name, as John Short, or Thomas Long. 

When he came to Oxford, he retained and extended his 
former practice without quitting the convenient disguise of an. 
assumed name. His object in printing the short abstract of 
some of the doctrines of Hume was to facilitate his epistolary- 
disquisitions. It was a small pill, but it worked powerfully ; 



THE NECESSITY OF ATHEISM, gl 

the mode of operation was this : — He enclosed a copy in a letter, 
and sent it by the post, stating, with modesty and simplicity, 
that he had met accidentally with that little tract, which ap- 
peared unhappily to be quite unanswerable. Unless the fish 
was too sluggish to take the bait, an answer of refutation was 
forwarded to an appointed address in London, and then in a 
vigorous reply he would fall upon the unwary disputant, and 
break his bones. The strenuous attack sometimes provoked a 
rejoinder more carefully prepared, and an animated and pro- 
tracted debate ensued ; the party cited, having put in his an- 
swer, was fairly in court, and he might get out of it as he could. 
The chief difficulty seemed to be to induce the person addressed 
to acknowledge the jurisdiction, and to plead ; and this, Shelley 
supposed, would be removed by sending, in the first instance, 
a printed syllabus instead of written arguments. An accident 
greatly facilitated his object. We had been talking some time 
before about geometrical demonstration ; he was repeating its 
praises, which he had lately read in some mathematical work, 
and speaking of its absolute certainty and perfect truth. 

I said that this superiority partly arose from the confidence 
of mathematicians, who were naturally a confident race, and 
were seldom acquainted with any other science than their own ; 
that they always put a good face upon the matter, detailing their 
arguments dogmatically and doggedly, as if there was no room 
for doubt, and concluded, when weary of talking in their posi- 
tive strain, with Q. E. D. : in which three letters there was so 
powerful a charm, that there was no instance of any one hav- 
ing ever disputed any argument, or proposition, to which they 
were subscribed. He was diverted by this remark and often 
repeated it, saying, if you ask a friend to dinner, and only put 
Q. E. D. at the end of the invitation, he cannot refuse to come ; 
and he sometimes wrote these letters at the end of a common 
note, in order, as he said, to attain to a mathematical certainty. 
The potent characters were not forgotten when he printed his 
little syllabus ; and their efficacy in rousing his antagonists 
was quite astonishing. 

It is certain that the three obnoxious letters had a fertilizing 
4^ 



82 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 

effect, and raised rich crops of controversy ; but it would be 
unjust to deny, that an honest zeal stimulated divers worthy 
men to assert the truth against an unknown assailant. The 
praise of good intention must be conceded ; but it is impossi- 
ble to accord that of powerful execution also to his antagonists ; 
this curious correspondence fully testified the deplorable condi- 
tion of education at that time. A youth of eighteen, was able 
to confute men who had numbered thrice as many years ; to 
vanquish them on their own ground, although he gallantly 
fought at a disadvantage by taking the wrong side. 

His little pamphlet was never offered for sale ; * it was not 
addressed to an ordinary reader, but to the metaphysician 
alone ; and it was so short, that it was only designed to point 
out the line of argument. It was in truth a general issue ; a 
compendious denial of every allegation, in order to put the 
whole case in proof; it was a formal mode of saying, you affirm 
so and so, then prove it ; and thus was it understood by his 
more candid and intelligent correspondents. As it was shorter, 

* "That It 'was never offered for sale' was certainly not the fault or the intention 
of the author, as proved by the following advertisement, now for the first time given in 
connection with Shelley's life. It was this bold and open announcement on the part 
of the author that the work would be published and sold in the ordinary way, that 
probably compelled the authorities to take notice of a tract, the existence of which they 
might not otherwise have known. Had it been announced in the London papers that 
a work entitled The Necessity of Atheism was about to be published, even ' bj' a 
gentleman of the University,' it would have provoked little attention at Oxford, whither 
the waifs and strays of blasphemy, ever floating in the metropolis, seldom found their 
way. Far different was it when in a journal circulating largely in the University, and 
calling itself 'The Oxford University and City Herald,' the following portentous an- 
nouncement appeared : — 

Speedily 7vill be published. 
To be had of the booksellers of London and Oxford, 

THE 

NECESSITY OF ATHEISM. 

* Quod clara et perspicua demonstratione caveat pro vero habere, mens omnino 
nequit humanae." — Baco?i, de Augjjte7it. Scient. 

" This advertisement appears in The Oxford Uttiversity and City Herald of Sat- 
urday, Feb, 9th, 1811. It has hitherto been unknown. Should the authorities of 
Oxford require any defence for the manner in which they acted towards the author, 
this advertisement will, I think, show that it was scarcely possible for them to over- 
look the carrying out of an Intention so audaciously announced." — JlacCarihy, 



THE NECESSITY OF ATHEISM. 83 

so was it plainer, and perhaps, in order to provoke discussion, 
a little bolder, than Hume's Essays, — a book which occupies a 
conspicuous place in the library of every student. The doc- 
trine, if it deserves the name, was precisely similar ; the neces- 
sary and inevitable consequence of Locke's philosophy, and of 
the theory that all knowledge is from without. I will not 
admit your conclusions, his opponent might answer ; then you 
must deny those of Hume : I deny them ; but you must deny 
those of Locke also ; and we will go back together to Plato. 
Such was the usual course of argument ; sometimes, however, 
he rested on mere denial, holding his adversary to strict proof, 
and deriving strength from his weakness. 

The young Platonist argued thus negatively through the love 
of argument, and because he found a noble joy in the fierce 
shocks of contending minds ; he loved truth, and sought it 
everywhere, and at all hazards, frankly and boldly, like a man 
who deserved to find it ; but he also loved dearly victory in de- 
bate, and warm debate for its own sake. Never was there a 
more unexceptionable disputant ; he was eager beyond the 
most ardent, but never angry and never personal ; he was the 
only arguer I ever knew who drew every argument from the 
nature of the thing, and who could never be provoked to de- 
scend to personal contention. He was fully inspired indeed, 
with the whole spirit of the true logician ; the more obvious 
and indisputable the proposition which his opponent undertook 
to maintain, the more complete was the triumph of his art if 
he could refute and prevent him. 

To one who was acquainted with the history of our Uni- 
versity, with its ancient reputation as the most famous school 
of logic, it seemed that the genius of the place, after an ab- 
sence of several generations, had deigned to return at last ; 
the visit, however, as it soon appeared, was ill-timed. 

The schoolman of old, who occasionally labored with tech- 
nical subtleties to prevent the admission of the first principles 
of belief, could not have been justly charged with the intention 
of promoting scepticism ; his was the age of minute and astute 
disceptation, it is true, but it was also the epoch of the most 



84 



PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 



firm, resolute, and extensive faith. I have seen a dexterous 
fencing-master, after warning his pupil to hold his weapon 
fast, by a few turns of his wrist throw it suddenly on the 
ground and under his feet ; but it cannot be pretended that he 
neglected to teach the art of self-defence, because he appa- 
rently deprived his scholar of that which is essential to the end 
proposed. To be disarmed is a step in the science of arms, 
and whoever has undergone it has already put his foot within 
the threshold ; so is it likewise with refutation. 

In describing briefly the nature of Shelley's epistolary con- 
tentions, the recollections of his youth, his zeal, his activity, and 
particularly of many individual peculiarities, may have tempted 
me to speak sometmies with a certain levity, notwithstanding 
the solemn importance of the topics respecting which they 
were frequently maintained. The impression that they were 
conducted on his part, or considered by him, with frivolity, or 
any unseemly lightness, would, however, be most erroneous ; 
his whole frame of mind was grave, earnest, and anxious, and 
his deportment was reverential, with an edification reaching 
beyond the age — an age wanting in reverence ; an unlearned 
age ; a young age, for the young lack learning. Hume per- 
mits no object of respect to remain ; Locke approaches the 
most awful speculations with the same indifference as if he 
were about to handle the properties of triangles ; the small 
deference rendered to the most holy things by the able theo- 
logian, Paley, is not the least remarkable of his characteristics. 

Wiser and better men displayed anciently, together with a 
more profound erudition, a superior and touching solemnity ; 
the meek seriousness of Shelley was redolent of those good 
old times before mankind had been despoiled of a main ingre- 
dient in the composition of happiness, a well-directed venera- 
tion. 

Whether such disputations were decorous or profitable may 
be perhaps doubtful ; there can be no doubt, however, since 
the sweet gentleness of Shelley was easily and instantly 
swayed by the mild influences of friendly admonition, that, 
had even the least dignified of his elders suggested the pro- 



EXPULSION FROM OXFORD. 85 

priety of pursuing his metaphysical inquiries with less ardor, 
his obedience would have been prompt and perfect. 

Not only had all salutary studies been long neglected in Ox- 
ford at that time, and all wholesome discipline was decayed, 
but the splendid endowments of the University were grossly 
abused ; the resident authorities of the college were too often 
men of the lowest origin, of mean and sordid souls, destitute 
of every literary attainment, except that brief and narrow 
course of reading by which the first degree was attained ; the 
vulgar sons of vulgar fathers, without liberality, and wanting 
the manners and the sympathies of gentlemen. 

A total neglect of all learning, an unseemly turbulence, the 
most monstrous irregularities, open and habitual drunkenness, 
vice, and violence, were tolerated or encouraged, with the 
basest sycophancy, that the prospect of perpetual licentious- 
ness might fill the colleges with young men of fortune ; when- 
ever the rarely exercised power of coercion was exerted, it 
demonstrated the utter incapacity of our unworthy rulers by 
coarseness, ignorance, and injustice. 

If a few gentlemen were admitted to fellowships, they were 
always absent ; they were not persons of literary pretensions, 
or distinguished by scholarship ; and they had no more share 
in the government of the college than the overgrown guardsmen, 
who, in long white gaiters, bravely protect the precious life of 
the sovereign against such assailants as the tenth Muse, our 
good friend, Mrs. Nicholson. 

As the term was drawing to a close, and a great part of the 
books we were reading together still remained unfinished, we 
had agreed to increase our exertions and to meet at an early 
hour. 

Expulsion from Oxford. 

It was a fine spring morning on Lady-day, in the year 181 1, 
when I went to Shelley's rooms ; he was absent ; but before I 
had collected our books he rushed in. He was terribly 
agitated. I anxiously inquired what had happened. 

** I am expelled," he said, as soon as he had recovered him- 



86 PER CY B YSSHE SHELLE Y. 

self a little, ^^ I am expelled ! I was sent for suddenly a few 
minutes ago ; I went to the common room, where I found our 
master, and two or three of the fellows. The master produced 
a copy of the little syllabus, and asked me if I were the author 
of it. He spoke in a rude, abrupt, and insolent tone. I 
begged to be informed for what purpose he put the question. 
No answer was given : but the master loudly and angrily re- 
peated, ' Are you the author of this book ? ' If I can judge 
from your manner, I said, you are resolved to punish me, if I 
should acknowledge that it is my work. If you can prove that 
it is, produce your evidence ; it is neither just nor lawful to 
interrogate me in such a case and for such a purpose. Such 
proceedings would become a court of inquisitors, but not free 
men in a free country. ' Do you choose to deny that this is 
your composition ? ' the master reiterated in the same rude and 
angry voice." Shelley complained much of his violent and 
ungentlemanlike deportment, saying, ^^I have experienced 
tyranny and. injustice before, and I well know what vulgar 
violence is ; but I never met with such unworthy treatment. I 
told him calmly, but firmly, that I was determined not to 
answer any questions respecting the publication on the table. 
He immediately repeated his demand ; I persisted in my 
refusal ; and he said furiously, ' Then you are expelled ; and I 
desire you Avill quit the college early to-morrow morning at the 
latest.' One of the fellows took up two papers, and handed 
one of them to me ; here it is." He produced a regular sen- 
tence of expulsion, drawn up in due form, under the seal of 
the college.* 

* ** I accept Mr. Hogg's account of this transaction as substantially correct. In 
Shelley's account to me, there were material differences ; and making all allowance 
for ihe degree in which, as already noticed, his imagination colored the past, there is 
one matter of fact which remains inexplicable. According to him, his expulsion was a 
matter of great form and solemnity ; there was a sort of public assembly, before which 
he pleaded his own cause, in a long oration, in the course of which he called on the 
illustrious spirits who had shed glory on those walls to look down on their degenerate 
successors. Now, the inexplicable matter to which I have alluded is this : he showed 
me an Oxford newspaper, containing a full report of the proceedings, with his own 
oration at great length. I suppose the pages of that diurnal were not deathless, and 
that it would now be in vain to search for it ; but that he had it, and showed it to me, 



EXPULSION FROM OXFORD. g/ 

Shelley was full of spirit and courage, frank and fearless ; 
but he was likewise shy, unpresuming, and eminently sensitive. 
I have been with him in many trying situations of his after- 
life, but I never saw him so deeply shocked and so cruelly 
agitated as on this occasion. A nice sense of honor shrinks 
from the most distant touch of disgrace — even from the insults 
of those men whose contumely can bring no shame. He sat 
on the sofa, repeating, with convulsive vehemence, the words, 
*^ Expelled, expelled ! " his head shaking with emotion, and his 
whole frame quivering. The atrocious injustice and its cruel 
consequences roused the indignation, and moved the compassion 
of a friend, who then stood by Shelley. He has given the 
following account of his interference : 

*^ So monstrous and so illegal did the outrage seem, that I 
held it to be impossible that any man, or any body of men, 
would dare to adhere to it ; but, whatever the issue might be, 
it was a duty to endeavor to the utmost to assist him. I at 
once stepped forward, therefore, as the advocate of Shelley ; 
such an advocate, perhaps, with respect to judgment, as might 
be expected at the age of eighteen, but certainly not inferior 
to the most practised defenders in good will and devotion. I 
wrote a short note to the masters and fellows, in which, as far 
as I can remember a very hasty composition after a long inter- 
val, I briefly expressed my sorrow at the treatment my friend 
had experienced, and my hope that they would reconsider 
their sentence ; since, by the same course of proceeding, my- 
self, or any other person, might be subjected to the same 
penalty, and to the imputation of equal guilt. The note was 
despatched ; the conclave was still sitting ; and in an instant 
the porter came to summon me to attend, bearing in his coun- 
tenance a promise of the reception which I was about to find. 
The angry and troubled air of men, assembled to commit in- 
justice according to established forms, was then new to me ; 

is absolutely certain. His oration may have been, as some of Cicero's published orations 
were, a speech in the potential mood ; one which might, could, should, or would, have 
been spoken ; but how in that case it got into the Oxford newspaper passes conjecture." 
— Peacock. 



88 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, 

but a native instinct told me, as soon as I entered the room, 
that it was an affair of party ; that whatever could conciliate 
the favor of patrons was to be done without scruple ; and 
whatever could tend to impede preferment was to be brushed 
away without remorse. The glowing master produced my poor 
note. I acknowledged it ; and he forthwith put into my hand, 
not less abruptly, the little syllabus. ' Did you write this ? ' he 
asked, as fiercely as if I alone stood between him and the rich 
see of Durham. I attempted, submissively, to point out to 
him the extreme unfairness of the question ; the injustice of 
punishing Shelley for refusing to answer it ; that if it were 
urged upon me I must offer the like refusal, as I had no doubt 
every man in college would — every gentleman, indeed, in the 
University; which, if such a course were adopted with all, — 
and there could not be any reason why it should be used with 
one and not with the rest, — would thus be stripped of every 
member. I soon perceived that arguments were thrown away 
upon a man possessing no more intellect or erudition, and far 
less renown, than that famous ram, since translated to the stars, 
through grasping whose tail less firmly than was expedient, the 
sister of Phryxus formerly found a watery grave, and gave her 
name to the broad Hellespont. 

^^ The other persons present took no part in the conversation ; 
they presumed not to speak, scarcely to breathe, but looked 
mute subserviency. The few resident fellows, indeed, were 
but so many incarnations of the spirit of the master, whatever 
that spirit might be. When I was silent, the master told me 
to retire, and to consider whether I was resolved to persist in 
my refusal. The proposal was fair enough. The next day, or 
the next week, I might have given my final answer — a deliberate 
answer; having in the mean time consulted with older and 
more experienced persons, as to what course was best for my- 
self and for others. I had scarcely passed the door, however, 
when I was recalled. The master again showed me the book, 
and hastily demanded whether I admitted, or denied, that I 
was the author of it. I answered that I was fully sensible of 
the many and great inconveniences of being dismissed with 



EXPULSION FROM OXFORD, 89 

disgrace from the University, and I specified some of them, 
and expressed an humble hope that they would not impose 
such a mark of discredit upon me without any cause. I 
lamented that it was impossible either to admit, or to deny, the 
publication, — no man of spirit could submit to do so ; — and 
that a sense of duty compelled me respectfully to refuse to 
answer the question which had been proposed. * Then you 
are expelled,' said the master angrily, in a loud, great voice. 
A formal sentence, duly signed and sealed, was instantly put 
into my hand ; in what interval the instrument had been drawn 
up I cannot imagine. The alleged offence was a contumacious 
refusal to disavow the imputed publication. My eye glanced 
over it, and observing the word continnaciously, I said calmly 
that I did not think that term was justified by my behavior. 
Before I had concluded the remark, the master, lifting up the 
little syllabus, and then dashing it on the table, and looking 
sternly at me, said, ' Am I to understand, sir, that you adopt 
the principles contained in this work ? ' or some such words ; 
for, like one red with the suffusion of college port and college 
ale, the intense heat of anger seemed to deprive him of the 
power of articulation ; by reason of a rude provincial dialect 
and thickness of utterance, his speech being at all times indis- 
tinct. ' The last question is still more improper than the for- 
mer,' I replied, — for I felt that the imputation was an insult ; 
' and since, by your own act, you have renounced all authority 
over me, our communication is at an end.' ^ I command you 
to quit my college to-morrow at an early hour.' I bowed and 
withdrew. I thank God I have never seen that man since ; 
he is gone to his bed, and there let him sleep. Whilst he lived, 
he ate freely of the scholar's bread, and drank from his cup ; 
and he was sustained, throughout the whole term of his exist- 
ence, wholly and most nobly, by those sacred funds that were 
consecrated by our pious forefathers to the advancement of 
learning. If the vengeance of the all-patient and long-con- 
temned gods can ever be roused, it will surely be by some 
such sacrilege ! The favor which he showed to scholars, and 
his gratitude, have been made manifest. If he were still alive, 



90 



PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 



he would doubtless be as little desirous that his zeal should 
now be remembered as those bigots who had been most active 
in burning Archbishop Cranmer could have been to publish 
their officiousness, during the reign of Elizabeth." * 

Thus not only were we driven rudely and lawlessly from a 
common table, spread for us by the provident bounty of our 
pious and prudent forefathers, where we had an undoubted 
right to be fed and nurtured ; but my incomparable friend and 
myself were hunted hastily out of Oxford. The precipitate vio- 
lence and indecent outrage was the act of our college, not of 
the University ; the evil-doers seemed to fear that, if we re- 
mained among them but a little while, the wrong might be re- 
dressed. It is true that I was told, but as- it were at the 
moment of departure, that if it was inconvenient to us to quit 
the place so suddenly, we might remain for a time ; and that, 
if Shelley would ask permission of the master to stay for a short 
period, it would most probably be granted. I immediately in- 
formed him of this proposal, but he was far too indignant at 
the insult which he had received, and at the brutal indignity 
wdth which he had been treated, to apply for any favor what- 
ever, even if his life had depended on the concession. The 
delicacy of a young high-bred gentleman makes him ever most 

* *• His expulsion from Oxford brought to a summary' conclusion his boyish passion 
for Miss Harriet Grove. She would have no more to sa^'^ to him : but I cannot see 
from his own letters, and those of Miss Hellen Shelley, that there had ever been much 
love on her side ; neither can I find any reason to believe that it continued long 
on his. Mr. Middleton follows Captain ]Medwin, who was determined that on Shelley's 
part it should be an enduring passion, and pressed into its service as testimonies some 
matters which had nothing to do with it. He says Queen Mab was dedicated to 
Harriet Grove, whereas it was certainly dedicated to Harriet Shelley ; he even prints 
the dedication with the title, ' To Harriet G,' whereas in the original the name of Har- 
riet is only followed by asterisks ; and of another little poem, he says, ' that Shelley's 
disappointment in love affected him acutely, may be seen by some lines inscribed 
erroneously ' On F. G.,' instead of * H. G.,' and doubdess of a much earlier date 
than the one assigned by Mrs. Shelley to the fragment. Now I know the circum- 
stances to which the fragment refers. The initials of the lady's name were F. G., 
and the date assigned to the fragment, 1817, was strictly correct. The intrinsic e\'idence 
of both poems will show their utter inapplicabilitj' to ]Miss Harriet Grove." — Peacock. 
[I hazard the conjecture that F. G. was Mar>' Godwin's half-sister, Fanny Godwin, as 
she was called, the daughter of Gilbert Imlay and Mary Wollstoncroft, who committed 
suicide at Swansea, not in 1817, but on the night of Oct. 9th, i8i6.* R. H. S.] 



IN LODGINGS IN LONDON. 



91 



unwilling to intrude, and more especially to remain in any 
society, where his presence is not acceptable. Nevertheless, I 
have sometimes regretted, and more particularly for the sake 
of my gifted friend, to whom the residence at Oxford was ex- 
ceedingly delightful, and, on all accounts, most beneficial, that 
we yielded so readily to these modest, retiring feelings. For if 
license to remain for some days would have been formally given 
upon a specific application, no doubt it would have been tacitly 
allowed ; although no request had been made, permission 
would have been implied. At any rate it is perfectly certain 
that force — brute force — would not have been resorted to ; that 
the police of the University would never have been directed to 
turn us out of our rooms, and to drive us beyond the gates ot 
our college, roughly casting the poor students' books into the 
street. The young martyr had never been told — he never re- 
ceived any admonition, not even the slightest hint, that his 
speculations were improper, or unpleasing to any one ; those 
persons alone had taken notice of, or a part in, them to whom 
they were agreeable ; persons, who, like himself, relish them, 
and had a taste for abstruse and, perhaps, unprofitable discus- 
sions. 

In Lodgings in London. 

We had determined to quit Oxford immediately (this prob- 
ably was a mistake), being under the ban of an absurd and 
illegal sentence. Having breakfasted together, the next morn- 
ing, March 26, 1811, we took our places on the outside of a 
coach, and proceeded to London. 

We put up for the night at some coffee-house near Piccadilly, 
and dined ; and then we went to take tea in Lincoln's Inn Fields 
with Shelley's cousins. Here we passed a very silent evening ; 
the cousins were taciturn people — the maxim of the family ap- 
peared to be, that a man should hold his tongue and save his 
money. I was a stranger ; Bysshe (I heard him called by that 
name then for the first time ; he was always called so by his 
family, probably to propitiate the old baronet) — Bysshe at- 
tempted to talk, but the cousins held their peace, and so con- 



92 



PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, 



versation remained cousin-bound. At a coffee-house one can 
read nothing but a newspaper ; this did not suit us ; we went 
out after breakfast to look for lodgings. 

We found several sets which seemed to me sufficiently com- 
fortable, but in this matter Bysshe was rather fanciful. We 
entered a pleasant parlor, — a man in the street vociferated, 
*' Mackarel, fresh mackarel ! " or '^Muscles! lilywhite mus- 
cles ! " Shelley was convulsed wdth horror, and, clapping his 
hands on his ears, rushed wildly out of doors. At the next 
house we were introduced to a cheerful little first floor, the 
window was open, a cart w^as grinding leisurely along, the 
driver suddenly cracked his whip, and Shelley started ; so that 
would not do. At one place he fell in dudgeon with the maid's 
nose ; at another he took umbrage at the voice of the mistress. 
Never was a young beauty so hard to please, so capricious ! I 
began to grow tired of the vain pursuit. However, we came to 
Poland Street ; it reminded him of Thaddeus of Warsaw and 
of freedom. We must lodge there, should we sleep even on 
the step of a door. A paper in a window announced lodgings ; 
Shelley took some objection to the exterior of the house, but 
we went in, and this time auspiciously. 

There was a back sitting-room on the first-floor, somewhat 
dark, but quiet ; yet quietness was not the principal attraction. 
The walls of the room had lately been covered with trellised 
paper ; in those days it was not common. There were trellises, 
vine-leaves with their tendrils, and huge clusters of grapes, 
green and purple, all represented in lively colors. This was 
delightful ; he went close up to the wall, and touched it : '^ We 
must stay here ; stay for ever ! " There was some debate about 
a second bed-room, and the authorities were consulted below ; 
he was quite uneasy, and eyed the cheerful paper wistfully 
during the consultation. We might have another bed-room ; 
it was upstairs. That room, of course, was to be mine. 
Shelley had the bed-room opening out of the sitting-room ; this 
also was overspread with the trellised paper. He touched the 
wall and admired it. 

*' Do grapes really grow in that manner anywhere ? " 



IN LODGINGS IN LONDON 



93 



'^ Yes, I believe they do ! " 

^* We will go and see them then, soon ; we will go together ! " 

^' Then we shall not stay here for ever ! " 

When could we have the lodgings ? Now, immediately. 
We brought our luggage in a hackney-coach. I had ordered a 
fire; to this he rather objected in a plaintive voice, staring 
piteously at the ripe clusters, and seeming actually to feel the 
genial warmth of the sweet South ; but we were still in March, 
and had the grapes been real grapes, a cheerful fire was in- 
dispensable. The weather was fine ; we took long walks 
together, as before, and we dined at some coffee-house, wher- 
ever we might chance to find ourselves at dinner-time, and re- 
turned to the trellised room to tea. 

We walked one day to Wandsworth,* where some of his 
younger sisters were at school. At that time Bysshe had a 
warm affection for his mother, and was passionately fond of his 
sisters. I remained outside, whilst he went into the house for 
a little while. When we stopped at the gate, a little girl, eight 
or ten years old, with long, light locks streaming over her 
shoulders, was scampering about. '^ Oh ! there is little 
Hellen ! " the young poet screamed out with rapturous delight. 
On our return he informed me, that the pretty child was his 
third sister, and he then first told me the object of our walk; 
for he took a pocketful of cakes to a school-girl with as much 
mystery as Pierre and Jafifier plotted against the government 
of Venice. We read much together, and often read aloud to 
each other, leading a quiet, happy life. But Shelley was not 
so comfortable as he had been at Oxford ; a college-life, with 
its manifold conveniences and all its appliances and aptitudes 
for study, exactly suited him. 

At that time " English Bards and Scotch Reviewers '' at- 
tracted much attention. We had not yet seen it. Shelley 
bought the poem one morning — a pretty little volume — at a 
bookseller's shop in Oxford Street. He put it under his arm, 
and we walked into the country ; when we were sufficiently re- 

* [Mr. Hogg's memory was at fault. It was not at Wandsworth, but at Clapham, 
that Slielley's sitters were at school, and it was here that he met Harriet Westbrook. — S.] 



94 



PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, 



moved from observation, he began to read it aloud. He read 
the whole poem aloud to me with fervid and exulting energy, 
and all the notes. He was greatly delighted with the bitter, 
wrathful satire. There are good things in it — some strong and 
striking passages — but it did not much please me ; it is full of 
pride, of hot, weak, impatient indignation. I never read it 
myself, I only heard it read once during this country walk, and 
I never saw the volume again. When he had finished it, he 
put it into his pocket hastily, or perhaps rather intended to do 
so, and missed his pocket, or — and it was no uncommon case 
with him — his pocket had been torn out, or there was a hole at 
the bottom, for, when he got home, the book had disappeared. 
The poem afterwards became exceedingly scarce, so that a 
large price was often given for a copy, and some curious per- 
sons even took the trouble to transcribe it. I have met with 
such MSS. Such was his first introduction to Byron ; such his 
first acquaintance with his brother poet, for he had never read 
those early attempts which were the moving cause of the furi- 
ous onslaught. 

Notwithstanding his admiration of the poem, he did not ex- 
press, as was his course, whenever he was pleased with any 
work, a desire or determination to become personally acquaint- 
ed with the author. He did not foresee that their lives would 
be blended and bound up together, as they were subsequently ; 
still less did he anticipate that the irate satirist would be his 
executor, and as such, at the expiration of a few short years, 
would preside at obsequies, so strange, so mournful ! To us, 
blind mortals, ignorant of the future, this present life is hardly 
to be borne. If we knew what is to come, it would be abso- 
lutely intolerable ! 

We occasionally visited the cousins in Lincoln's Inn Fields 
again, to tea, or to dinner. They were mute, as before, and 
we met other cousins, not less reserved and retiring. 

John G took us one Sunday morning into Kensington 

Gardens. We had never been there before. Bysshe was 
charmed with the sylvan — and in those days somewhat neg- 
lected — aspect of the place. It soon became, and always con- 



IN LODGINGS IN LONDON. 95 

tinned to be, a favorite resort. In the more retired parts of 
the gardens he especially delighted, and particularly in one 
dark nook where there were many old yew-trees. 

One day we were invited to dine in Garden Court. Shelley, 
J. G., and myself, repaired thither. On our way I stopped to 
look at an object, which, so to say, I have seen every day of 
my life since, that is, for some fifty years, but which was then 
new to me. I had seen fountains represented in books, in 
views of old-fashioned mansions, but, I think, I had never ac- 
tually set my eyes on one before. 

** How many dukes shall we have to-day, Bysshe?" John 
G asked. 

^' Several, no doubt." 

I quitted the fountain, and considered much within myself 
wha.t this question could mean. Having ascended pretty high, 
we arrived at the chambers of our host, and were welcomed. 
Two or three persons were there already. We were introduced 
to them, but of these none were dukes, — not one. We had a 
comfortable dinner 

Of steaks, and other Temple messes, 
Which some neat-handed Phillis dresses. 

We heard them hissing in a small kitchen adjoining our dining- 
room, and Phillis brought them in, hot and hot. I still thought 

about the dukes, but I soon discovered what John G meant. 

No dukes were mentioned, but several marchionesses, coun- 
tesses, and baronesses were named, at whose parties Tom had 
figured lately, and who were excessively flattered and gratified 
when they were assured of the satisfaction with their arrange- 
ments which he had condescendingly expressed. After dinner 
there was some port wine, and much conversation ; it rolled 
chiefly on the superiority of women. Bysshe spoke with great 
animation of their purity, disinterestedness, generosity, kind- 
ness, and the like. I supported him humbly and feebly, by 
affirming, that girls, as far as my observation went, learned 
more readily than boys, especially the mathematical sciences ; 
that they had not the same repugnance to receive instruction — 



q6 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 

not the same antipathy to learning, but were happy to be 
taught. 

John G , a surgeon, said, the female sex had been un- 
fairly treated ; they had an undue share of pain, and sickness, 
and suffering, which they bore with an amount of patience and 
fortitude, of which men were incapable. 

Most of these assertions met with warm opposition ; one 
fierce little man in particular got wonderfully angry. '' When 
I take to myself a wife, do you suppose I shall allow her to set 
herself up, as being cleverer than myself? No, indeed, I will 
just get a horsewhip, and I will soon beat her conceit out of 
her ! You may take my word for it ! " 

His word was taken, but his arguments, if such they might 
be called, did not go for much. 

Bysshe was disgusted with him, and in walking home, re- 
marked : *' Since mild expostulations were unavailing, the 
fellow" (so he termed the choleric little gentleman) '' ought to 
have been thrown out of the window. What do you think, 
John ? " 

^^I think, if that had been done, we should probably have 
had some very pretty cases of compound fractures ! " 

Timothy Shelley, M.P. 

Shelley took me one Sunday to dine with his father, by invi- 
tation, at Miller's hotel, over Westminster Bridge. We break- 
fasted early, and sallied forth, taking, as usual, a long walk. 
He told me that his father would behave strangely, and that I 
must be prepared for him ; and he described his ordinary be- 
havior on such occasions. I thought the portrait was exagger- 
ated, and I told him so ; he assured me that it was not. 

Shelley had, generally, one volume at least in his pocket, 
whenever he went out to walk. He produced a little book, 
and read various passages from it aloud. It was an unfavor- 
able and unfair criticism on the Old Testament, some work of 
Voltaire's if I mistake not, which he had lately picked up on 
a stall. He found it amusing, and read many pages aloud to 
me, laughing heartily at the excessive and extravagant ridicule 



TIMOTHY SHELLEY, M.P. 



97 



of the Jewish nation, their theocracy, laws, and pecuHar 
usages. 

We arrived at the appointed hour of five at the hotel, but 
dinner had been postponed until six. Mr. Graham, whom I 
had seen before, was there. Mr. Timothy Shelley received me 
kindly ; but he presently began to talk in an odd, unconnected 
manner ; scolding, crying, swearing, and then weeping again ; 
no doubt, he went on strangely. 

'' What do you think of my father? " Shelley whispered to 
me. 

I had my head filled with the book which I had heard read 
aloud all the morning, and I whispered in answer : '^ Oh, he is 
not your father. It is the God of the Jews ; the Jehovah you 
have been reading about ! " 

Shelley was sitting at the moment, as he often used to sit, 
quite on the edge of his chair. Not only did he laugh aloud, 
with a wild, demoniacal burst of laughter, but he slipped from 
his seat, and fell on his back at full length on the floor. 

'' What is the matter, Bysshe ? Are you ill ? are you dead ? 
are you mad ? Why do you laugh ? " 

It was not easy to return a satisfactory answer to his father, 
or to Mr. Graham, who came to raise him from the ground ; 
but the announcement of dinner put an end to the confusion. 

We dined comfortably. Some time after dinner, Bysshe 
had gone out on an errand for his father, — I think, to order post- 
horses for the next morning. The father addressed me thus : 

^' You are a very different person, sir, from what I expected 
to find ; you are a nice, moderate, reasonable, pleasant gentle- 
man. Tell me what you think I ought to do with my poor boy ? 
He is rather wild, is he not ? " 

" Yes, rather." 

*^ Then, what am I to do ? " 

'Mf he had married his cousin, he would perhaps have been 
less so. He would have been steadier." 

^Mt is very probable that he would." 

^' He wants somebody to take care of him ; a good wife. 
What if he were married ? " 

5 



Qg PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, 

^' But how can I do that ? It is impossible ; if I were to tell 
Bysshe to marry a girl, he would refuse directly. I am sure he 
would ; I know him so well." 

" I have no doubt that he would refuse, if you were to order 
him to marry ; and I should not blame him. But if you were 
to bring him in contact with some young lady, who, you be- 
lieved, would make him a suitable wife, without saying any- 
thing about marriage, perhaps he would take a fancy to her ; 
and if he did not like her, you could try another." 

Mr. Graham then interposed, and said that was an ex- 
cellent plan, and Mr. Shelley conversed with him for some 
time in a low voice. They went over a list of young women of 
their acquaintance. I did not know these ladies even by name, 
so I paid little attention to their conversation, which terminated 
suddenly when Bysshe returned. 

Another bottle of port was proposed, for the honorable 
member, whatever his merits or defects might be, was jolly and 
hospitable. 

^' They have older wine in this house, than any they have 
brought us yet ; let us have a bottle of that ! " 

Nobody was inclined to drink more wine, and therefore we 
had tea. Mr. Graham made tea ; he was Mr. Shelley's facto- 
tum, and he was always civil and attentive. 

After tea our jovial host became characteristic again ; he 
discoursed of himself and his own affairs ; he cried, laughed, 
scolded, swore, and praised himself, at great length. He was 
so highly respected in the House of Commons : he was re- 
spected by the whole House, and by the Speaker in particular, 
who told him that they could not get on without him. He as- 
sured us that he was greatly beloved in Sussex. Mr. Graham 
assented to all this. He was such an excellent magistrate. He 
told a very long story, how he had lately committed two 
poachers : ^' You know the fellows, Graham, you know who 
they are." 

Mr. Graham assented. 

" And when they got out of prison, one of them came and 
thanked me." 



TIMOTHY SHELLEY, M.P. 



99 



Why the poacher was so grateful the worthy magistrate did 
not inform us. 

'' There is certainly a God," he then said ; '' there can be 
no doubt of the existence of a Deity ; none whatever." 

Nobody present expressed any doubt. 

'' You have no doubt on the subject, sir, have you ? " he in- 
quired, addressing himself particularly to me. 

" None whatever." 

'' If you have, I can prove it to you in a moment." 

'^ I have no doubt." 

^' But perhaps you would like to hear my argument ? " 

^^ Very much." 

'^ I will read it to you, then." 

He felt in several pockets, and at last drew out a sheet of 
letter-paper, and began to read. 

Bysshe, leaning forward, listened with profound attention. 
*' I have heard this argument before," he said : and, by-and- 
by, turning to me, he said again, " I have heard this argument 
before." 

'^ They are Paley's arguments," I said. 

^^Yes!" the reader observed, with much complacency, 
turning towards me, '' you are right, sir," and he folded up the 
paper, and put it into his pocket; '^ they are Palley's argu- 
ments ; I copied them out of Palley's book this morning my- 
self : but Palley had them originally from me ; almost every- 
thing in Palley's book he had from me." 

When we parted, Mr. Shelley shook hands with me in a 
very friendly manner. '^ I am sorry you would not have any 
more wine. I should have liked much to have drunk a bottle 
of the old wine with you. Tell me the truth, I am not such a 
bad fellow after all, am I ? " 

*^ By no means." 

'' Well, when you come to see me at Field Place, you will 
find that I am not." 

We parted thus ; he lived just thirty-three years longer, but 
we never met again. I have sometimes thought that if he had 
been taken the right way, things might have gone better ; but 



lOO PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 

this his son, Bysshe, could never do, for his course, hke that 
of true love, was not to run smooth. 

'' Palley's arguments ! Palley's books ! " I said to my friend, 
as we walked home. 

'^ Yes ; my father always will call him Palley ; why does he 
call him so ? " 

'' I do not know, unless it be to rhyme to Sally." 

After a deep, long-drawn sigh, he exclaimed : ^^ Oh, how I 
wish you would come to Field Place ! How I wish my father 
would invite you again, and you would come ! You would set 
us all to rights, for you know how to put everybody in good 
humor." 

The real author of the meagre and inconclusive treatises, 
which had been published under the name of Paley, and had 
been erroneously received, as being the compositions of the 
Archdeacon of Carlisle, was manifestly fond of making a fuss, 
of attracting attention to himself and his concerns, and of 
filling a space in the eyes of so much of the public as could be 
induced to attend to his manifestations. 

As a senator, an integral portion of the collective wisdom, 
he loved, if not in the honorable house, at least out of doors, 
to move standing orders, to carry resolutions, by which nothing 
was resolved, to give notices, to record protests, and, in one 
word, to give full play to the whole machinery of pompous 
folly. To draw up protocols, like an accomplished statesman, 
as he was, to pen diplomatic notes, to sketch the outline of 
treaties, and to submit propositions and articles of capitulation 
provisionally ; all these devices and many more, he tried on 
with my family. But his success was small ; for, although Mr. 
Speaker, as he said, could not get through the business of the 
Session without his powerful aid, he appeared to us all to be a 
bore of the first magnitude, and a serious impediment to the 
carrying into effect any ordinary arrangements. 

Harriet Westbrook. 
[Whether the life of Shelley would have been other than it 
was, if he had married his cousin Harriet Grove, is a matter 



HARRIET WESTBROOK. lOi 

for speculation. She was his first love, as Mary Chaworth was 
the first love of Byron, and Mary Campbell was the first love 
of Burns. He appears to have been more attached to her than 
she was to him, and to have surrounded her with a poetic halo. 
His sister pleaded for him, but without success. '' Even sup- 
posing I take your representation of your brother's qualities 
and sentiments, which, as you coincide in and admire, I may 
fairly imagine to be exaggerated, although you may not be 
aware of the exaggeration, what right have I, admitting that he 
is so superior, to enter into an intimacy which must end in 
delusive disappointment, when he finds how really inferior I 
am to the being his heated imagination has pictured ? " Two 
weeks later, on January 3d, 181 1, Shelley writes : '^ She is no 
longer mine. She abhors me as a sceptic, as what she was 
before." On the i ith of January he writes again : '' She is gone. 
She is lost to me for ever. She married — married to a clod of 
earth. She will become as insensible herself; all those fine 
capabilities will moulder." It is to be hoped that Harriet 
Grove was happy with her clod, and that her fine capabilities 
did not moulder, as her cousinly lover anticipated. Another 
Harriet soon appeared upon the scene, and he shifted his alle- 
giance to her. Harriet Westbrook was a school companion of 
his sister Hellen, at Clapham, and when, afte;: his expulsion 
from Oxford, he was in London, without money, his father 
having refused him assistance, this sister had requested her fair 
schoolfellow to be the medium of conveying to him such small 
sums as she and her sisters could afford to send, and other little 
presents which they thought would be acceptable. Under these 
circumstances, says Shelley's friend Peacock, the ministry of 
the young and beautiful girl presented itself like that of a guar- 
dian angel, and there was a charm about their intercourse which 
he readily persuaded himself could not be exhausted in the 
duration of life. Miss Westbrook was not a free-thinker when 
Shelley first met her, whatever she may have become after- 
wards ; for, in a letter of hers, which MacCarthy was the first 
to publish, she wrote : *^ Being brought up in the Christian 
religion, you may conceive with what horror I first heard that 



102 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 

Percy was an Atheist — at least so it was given out at Clapham. 
At tirst I did not comprehend the meaning of the word, there- 
fore when it was explained I was truly petrified. I wondered 
how he could live a moment professing such principles, and 
solemnly declared he should never change mine." Shelley's 
letters to Hogg at this period, contain several references to his 
guardian angel. '* Miss Westbrook has this moment called on 
me with her sister," he writes, April i8th, 1811, from the trell- 
ised room in Poland Street. ^' It was certainly very kind of 
her." Six days later he wrote, ^' My little friend Harriet W. 
is gone to her prison house. She is quite well in health : at 
least so she says, though she looks very much otherwise. I saw 
her yesterday. I went with her sister to ^liss H.'s, and walked 
about Clapham Common with them for two hours. The young- 
est is a most amiable girl, the eldest is really conceited, but 
very condescending. I took the sacrament with her on Sun- 
day." The author of The Necessity for Atheism taking the 
sacrament with a school-girl ! What would the expelling Dons 
of Oxford have said to that ? ''' You say I talk philosophically 
of her kindness in calling on me," this curious sceptic contin- 
ued. '^ She is very charitable and good. I shall always think 
of it with gratitude, because I certainly did not deserve it, and 
she exposed herself to much possible odium. It is perhaps 
scarcely doing her a kindness — it is perhaps inducing positive 
unhappiness, to point out to her a road which leads to perfec- 
tion, the attainment of which, perhaps, does not repay the 
difficulties of the progress." If Shelley had pondered more 
deeply on this last suggestion, or if Hogg had been a wiser 
friend than he seems to have been, the fate of Harriet might 
have been different from what it was. Some days later he 
wrote again, this time from Lincoln's Inn Fields, '' at Grove's," 
meaning probably the chambers of Harriet Grove's brother. 
/^ My poor little friend has been ill, her sister sent for me the 
other night. I found her on a couch, pale ; her father is civil 
to me, very strangely : the sister is too civil by half. She be- 
gan talking about f Amour, I philosophized, and the youngest 
baid she had such a headache that she could not bear conver- 



HARRIET WESTBROOK. 



103 



sation. Her sister then went away, and I stayed till half-past 
twelve. Her father had a large party below, he invited me ; I 
refused." After a Voltairish paragraph which need not be 
quoted, he continues: *' They are both very clever, and the 
youngest (my friend) is amiable. Yesterday she was better, 
and to-day her father compelled her to go to Clapham, whither 
I have conducted her ; and am but now returned." A few 
days later we found the guardian angel reading Voltaire's Dic- 
tionnaire Philosophique. '" I spend most of my time at Miss 
Westbrook's. I was a great deal too hasty in criticising her 
character. How often have we to alter the impressions which 
first sight, or first anything produces. I really now consider 
her as amiable, not perhaps in a high degree, but perhaps she 
is." Allusions to Miss Westbrook, and the Miss Westbrooks, 
enliven Shelley's correspondence with Hogg. He discusses 
both, but declares that if he knows anything about love, he is 
not in love. It was a pity, for he was about to take an impor- 
tant step in life. '' My dear friend," he writes from Rhayader, 
about the middle of May, 181 1, '^you will perhaps see me 
before you can answer this ; perhaps not ; Heaven knows ! I 
shall certainly come to York, but Harriet Westbj^ook will decide 
whether now or in three weeks. Her father has persecuted her 
in a most horrible way, by endeavoring to compel her to go to 
school. She asked my advice : resistance was the answer, at 
the same time that I essayed to mollify Mr. W. in vain ! And 
in consequence of my advice she has thrown herself upon my 
protection. 

'' I set off for London on Monday. How flattering a distinc- 
tion ! — I am thinking of ten million things at once. 

'^ What have I said? I declare, quite ludicrous, I advised 
her to resist. She wrote to say that resistance was useless, but 
that she would fly with me, and threw herself upon my protec- 
tion. We shall have ;/^2oo a year : when we find it run short, 
we must live, 1 suppose, upon love ! Gratitude and admira- 
tion, all demand, that I should love \\qx for ever. We shall see 
you at York. I will hear your arguments for matrimonialism, 
by which I am now almost convinced. I can get lodgings at 



104 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, 

York, I suppose. Direct to me at Graham's, i8, Sackville 
Street, Piccadilly. 

'^ Your inclosure oi £\o has arrived ; I am now indebted to 
you £}^o. In spite of philosophy, I am rather ashamed of this 
unceremonious exsiccation of your financial river. But indeed, 
my dear friend, the gratitude which I owe you for your society 
and attachment ought so far to over-balance this consideration 
as to leave me nothing but that. I must, however, pay you 
when I can." 

The history of Shelley's courtship of Harriet Westbrook, or 
Harriet \Vestbrook's courtship of Shelley, has never been 
written, and perhaps never will be. It seems to have been 
promoted by others quite as much as by themselves. That her 
father was not averse to her marriage with the oldest son of a 
baronet, may be taken for granted. The marriage, as Hogg 
remarks, was not so hasty an affair as it is commonly repre- 
sented to have been. '* The wooing continued for half a year 
at least, and this is a long time in the life, in the life of love, 
of such young persons. Harriet Westbrook appears to have 
been dissatisfied with her school, but without any adequate 
cause, for she was kindly treated and well educated there. It 
is not impossible that this discontent was prompted and sug- 
gested to her, and that she was put up to it, and to much be- 
sides, by somebody, who conducted the whole affair — who had 
assumed and steadily persisted in keeping the complete direc- 
tion of her. 

When a young man finds a young woman discontented with 
her school, or convent, and with her own family and friends, 
without much reason, a pretty face and soft manners too often 
make him forget that she is very probably a girl of a discon- 
tented disposition, and is likely to be dissatisfied wherever she 
may afterwards be placed. 

The advocates of divorce, legal or illegal, formal or informal, 
would do well to remember, that a wife who quarrels with her 
present husband is perhaps a person of a nature very apt to 
disagree with her next also, and with all future husbands. 
Thus, a man who cannot make himself comfortable in the 



SHELLEY IN EDINBURGH. 



105 



dwelling which he now inhabits, is commonly of a restless, rov- 
ing disposition, a rolling stone, and he will never find a house 
that will suit him long. ^ A man ought to be able to live with 
any woman ; ' Shelley told me his friend Robert Southey once 
said to him, ' You see that I can, and so ought you. It comes 
to pretty much the same thing, I apprehend. There is no great 
choice, or difference ! ' " Shelley was summoned from Rhayader 
by the pressing appeals of Miss Westbrook, Lady Shelley tells 
us, and hastily returning to London he eloped with Harriet. 
This was in September, 181 1 . He had attained the mature age 
of nineteen, and was her elder by three years. They proceeded 
to Edinburgh, where they were married. '^ They had absorbed 
their stock of money," Peacock says. ^^ They took a lodging, 
and Shelley immediately told the landlord who they were, what 
they had come for, and the exhaustion of their finances, and 
asked him if he would take them in, and advance them money 
to get married and to carry them on till they could get a remit- 
tance. This the man agreed to do, on condition that Shelley 
would treat himself and his friends to a supper in honor of the 
occasion. It was arranged accordingly ; but the man was more 
obtrusive and officious than Shelley was disposed to tolerate. 
The marriage was concluded, and in the evening Shelley and 
his bride were alone together, when the man tapped at their 
door. Shelley opened it, and the man said to him : ^ It is 
customary here at weddings for the guests to come in, in the 
middle of the night, and wash the bride with whiskey.' ' I im- 
mediately,' said Shelley, ' caught up my brace of pistols, and 
pointing them both at him, said to him, ^' I have had enough 
of your impertinence ; if you give me any more of it I will blow 
your brains out ; " on which he ran or rather tumbled down- 
stairs, and I bolted the doors.' The custom of washing the 
bride with whiskey is more likely to have been so made known 
to him than to have been imagined by him."] 

Shelley in Edinburgh. 

I soon set foot in George Street, a spacious, noble, well- 
built street ; but a deserted street, or rather a street which 

5* 



I06 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 

people had not yet come fully to inhabit. I soon found the 
number indicated at the post-office ; I have forgotten it, but it 
was on the left side — the side next to Princes Street. I 
knDckcd at the door of a handsome house ; it was all right ; 
and in a handsome front parlor I was presently received raptur- 
ously by my friend. He looked just as he used to look at Ox- 
ford, and as he looked when I saw him last in April, in our 
trellised apartment ; but now joyous at meeting again, not as 
then sad at parting. I also saw — and for the first tmie — his 
lovely young bride, bright as the morning, — as the morning of 
that bright day on which we first met ; bright, blooming, 
radiant with youth, health, and beauty. I was hailed trium- 
phantly by the new-married pair ; my arrival was more than 
welcome ; they had got my letter and expected to rejoice at my 
coming every moment. '^ We have met at last once more ! " 
Shelley exclaimed, '^ and we will never part again ! You must 
have a bed in the house ! " It was deemed necessary, indispensa- 
ble. At that time o( life a bed a mile or two off, as far as I was 
concerned, would have done as well ; but I must have a bed in 
the house. The landlord was summoned, he came instantly ; 
a bed in the house ; the necessity was so urgent that they did 
not give him time to speak. When the poor man was permitted 
to answer, he said, ^' I have a spare bed-room, but it is at the 
top of the house. It may not be quite so pleasant." He, con- 
ducted me up a handsome stone staircase of easiest ascent ; the 
way was not difficult, but very long. It appeared well-nigh 
interminable. We came at length to an airy, spacious bed-room. 
•' This will do very well." A stone staircase is handsome and 
commodious, and, in case of fire, it must be a valuable secu- 
rity ; but whenever a door was shut it thundered ; the thunder 
rolled pealing for some seconds. I was to lodge with Jupiter 
Tonans at the top of Olympus. Of all the houses in London, 
with which I am acquainted, those in Fitzroy Square alone re- 
mind me, by their sonorous powers, of Edinburgh, and of the 
happy days I passed in that beautiful city. On returning to 
my friends, our mutual greetings were repeated ; each had a 
thousand things to tell and to ask of the rest. Our joy 



SHELLEY IN EDINBURGH, 



107 



being a little calmed, we agreed to walk. ^^ We are in the 
capital of the unfortunate Queen Mary," said Harriet ; '* we 
must see her palace first of all." We soon found Holyrood 
House ; a beggarly palace, in truth. We saw the long line of 
Scottish monarchs, from Fergus the First downwards, disposed 
in two rows, being evidently the productions of some very in- 
ferior artist, who could not get employment as a sign-painter. 
We saw Mary's bed-room, the stains of Rizzio's blood, and all 
the other relics. These objects, intrinsically mean and paltry, 
greatly interested my companions, especially Harriet, who was 
well-read in the sorrowful history of the unhappy queen. 
Bysshe must go home and write letters, I was to ascend 
Arthur's Seat with the lady. We marched up the steep hill 
boldly, and reached the summit. The view may be easily seen, 
it is impossible to describe it. It was a thousand pities Bysshe 
was not with us, and then we might remain there ; one ought 
never to quit so lovely a scene. 

'^ Let us sit down ; probably when he has hnished wTiting he 
will come to us." 

We sat a long time, at first gazing around, afterwards w^e 
looked out for the young bridegroom, but he did not appear. 
It was fine while we ascended ; it was fine, sunny, clear, and 
still, whilst we remained on the top ; but when we began to 
descend, the wind commenced blowing. Harriet refused to 
proceed ; she sat down again on the rock, and declared that we 
would remain there for ever ! For ever is rather a long time ; 
to sit until the wind abated would have been to sit there quite 
long enough. Entreaties were in vain. I was hungry, for I 
had not dined on either of the two preceding days. The sen- 
tence — never to dine again — was a severe one, and although it 
was pronounced by the lips of beauty, I ventured to appeal 
against it ; so I left her and proceeded slowly down the hill, 
the wind blowing fresh. She sat for some time longer, but 
finding that I was in earnest, she came running down after me. 
Harriet was always most unwilling to show her ankles, or even 
her feet, hence her reluctance to move in the presence of a 
rude, indelicate wind, which did not respect her modest 



I08 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 

scrupulousness. If there was not much to admire about these 
carefully-concealed ankles, certainly there was nothing to 
blame. 

The accommodations at our lodgings in George Street were 
good, and the charges reasonable ; the food was abundant and 
excellent ; everything was good, the wine included ; in one 
particular only was there a deficiency, the attendance was in- 
sufficient, except at meals, when our landlord officiated in 
person. One dirty little nymph, by name Christie, was the 
servant of the house — the domestic, she was termed ; she 
spoke a dialect which we could not comprehend, and she was, 
for the most part, unable to understand what we southerns 
said to her, or indeed anything else, save only perchance 
political economy and metaphysics. After ringing the well- 
hung bells many times in vain, she would suddenly open the 
door, and exclaiming, " Oh ! The kittle !" darted off to be 
brought back again, after a long delay, by the like exertions 
and with the like result. Her sagacity had discovered that we 
drank much tea, and therefore often required the services of 
the tea-kettle. However, if she was of no great use to us, the 
poor little girl at least afforded us some amusement. 

Shelley was of an extreme sensibility — of a morbid sensi- 
bility — and strange, discordant sounds he could not bear to 
hear ; he shrank from the unmusical voice of the Caledonian 
maiden. Whenever she entered the room, or even came to the 
door, he rushed wildly into a corner and covered his ears with 
his hands. We had, to our shame be it spoken, a childish, 
mischievous delight in tormenting him ; in catching the shy 
virgin and making her speak in his presence. The favorite in- 
terrogatory so often administered was, '' Have you had your 
dinner to-day, Christie ? ' '^ Yes." *' And what did you get ? " 
'' Sengit heed and bonnocks," was the unvarying answer, and 
its efficacy was instantaneous and sovereign. Our poor sensi- 
tive poet assumed the air of the Distracted Musician, became 
nearly frantic, and, had we been on the promontory, he would 
certainly have taken the Leucadian leap for Christie's sake, 
and to escape for ever from the rare music of her voice. 



A SUNDAY IN EDINBURGH. 



109 



^'Oh! Bysshe, how can you be so absurd? What harm 
does the poor girl do you ? " 

'^ Send her away, Harriet ! Oh ! send her away ; for God's 
sake, send her away ! " 

Shelley went every morning himself, before breakfast, to 
the post-office for his letters, of which he received a prodigious 
number ; and he used to bring back with him splendid plates 
of virgin honey. I never saw such fine honeycombs before or 
since, and it was delicious. Shelley was for the most part in- 
different to food, to all meats and drinks, but he relished this 
honey surprisingly ; so much did he enjoy it, that he was alraost 
offended when I said, exquisite though it was, it was a shame 
to eat it ; wantonly to destroy, merely to flatter the palate, so 
beautiful and so wonderful a structure, was as barbarous as it 
would be to devour roses and lilies. It was far too great a 
marvel to be eaten ; it should only be looked at, kept entire, to 
be admired. It approaches cannibalism to feed on it; indeed, 
it is too like eating Harriet ! I think you would eat Harriet 
herself! 

'' So I would, if she were as good to eat, and I could re- 
place her as easily ! " 

'' Oh ! fie, Bysshe ! " the young lady exclaimed, who inclined 
somewhat to my heresy, feasting her eyes with the honeycomb, 
and declaring it was quite a pity to eat it ; this the greedy poet 
said was tiresome. 

A Sunday in Edinburgh. 

After breakfast on Sunday, a verbal announcement was 
made to us by our landlord himself : " They are drawing nigh 
unto the kirk ! " 

On looking from the windows, we saw the grave Presby- 
terians, with downcast looks, like conscience-stricken sinners, 
slowly crawling towards their place of gathering. We were 
admonished — for Shelley said, one Sunday, ^' Let us go and 
take a walk," — that it was not lawful to go forth to walk pur- 
posely and avowedly on the Sabbath, a day of rest and wor- 
ship ; but if a man happen to find himself in the streets casu- 



no PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 

ally, he may walk a little with perfect innocence, only it is 
altogether unlaw^ful to go out from his door with the mind of 
taking a walk of pure pleasure. 

After this serious and edifying warning we sometimes casu- 
ally found ourselves without the house on a Sunday, and walked 
about a little, as we believed, innocently. 

We were taking such a harmless stroll, by mere accident, in 
Princes Street : Bysshe laughed aloud, with a fiendish laugh, at 
some rem^ark of mine. 

'^ You must not laugh openly, in that fashion, young man," 
an ill-looking, ill-conditioned fellow said to him. '' If you do, 
you will most certainly be convened ! " 

'^ What is that? " asked Shelley, rather displeased, at the 
rude interpellation. 

'* Why, if you laugh aloud in the public streets and ways on 
the Christian Sabbath, you will be cast into prison, and eventu- 
ally banished from Scotland." 

The observance of the Sabbath in North Britain, as I have 
been credibly informed, has been, since the year of the 
comet, like the manufacture of hats in England, decidedly 
improved, both articles being now much lighter, and less 
oppressive. 

I once asked the way to some place in Edinburgh of a staid 
old gentlewoman : '^ I am going the same road in part, and I 
wdll attend you." 

We proceeded leisurely along together ; she conversed 
gravely, but affably : How do you like this ; how that ; ** How 
do you like our public w^orship ? " 

"" I have not assisted at it yet." 

'' Oh ! but you must ; you must go and hear Dr. Mac Quis- 
quis ; he is a fine preacher ; an accomplished divine ; he 
wrestles most powerfully with Satan, every Sabbath morn ! " 

I promised my obliging conductress to go and witness these 
spiritual struggles with a ghostly enemy ; but I could not re- 
deem a pledge somewhat rashly given, for I did not know in 
what arena this powerful gymnast fought. I did not even catch 
the name of the accompHshed divine. One Sabbath morn, 



A SUNDA V IN EDINBURGH. j j i 

however, when we were again advised that they were draAv^ing 
nigh unto the Kirk, Shelley and myself boldly resolved to draw 
nigh also ; the lovely Harriet would not accompany us, alleg- 
ing, and with some probability, that the wearisome perform- 
ances would give her a headache. We joined the scattered 
bands, which increased in number as we advanced, creeping 
with them for a considerable distance. We reached a place 
of worship, and entered it with the rest ; it was plain, spacious, 
and gloomy. We suffered ourselves rather incautiously to be 
planted side by side, on a bench in the middle of the devout 
assembly, so that escape was impossible. There was singing, 
in which all, or almost all, the congregation joined ; it was 
loud, and discordant, and protracted. There was praying, 
there was preaching, — both extemporaneous. We prayed for 
all sorts and conditions of men, more particularly for our ene- 
mies. The preacher discoursed at a prodigious length, repeat- 
ing many times things that were not worthy to be said once, 
and threatening us much with the everlasting punishments, 
which, solemnly and confidently, he declared were in store for 
us. I never saw Shelley so dejected, so desponding, so de- 
spairmg ; he looked like the picture of perfect wretchedness ; 
the poor fellow sighed piteously, as if his heart would break. 
If they thought that he was conscience-stricken, and that his 
vast sorrow was for his sins, all, who observed him, must 
have been delighted with him, as with one filled with the com- 
fortable assurance of eternal perdition. No one present could 
possibly have comprehended the real nature of his acute suffer- 
ings,— could have sympathized in the anguish and agony of a 
creature of the most poetic temperament that ever was be- 
stowed, for his weal or his woe, upon any human being, at feeling 
himself in the most unpoetic position in which he could possi- 
bly be placed. At last, after expectations many times disap- 
pointed of an approaching deliverance, and having been re- 
peatedly deceived by glimpses of an impending discharge, and 
having long endured that sickness of heart caused by hopes 
deferred, the tedious worship actually terminated. 

We were eagerly pressing forward to get out of our prison, 



1 1 2 PER CY B YSSHE SHELLE V. 

and out of the devout crowd, but a man in authority pushed us 
aside : 

'' Make way for the Lord Provost and the BelUes ! " 

We stood on one side for a while, that the civic dignitaries 
might pass. My friend asked, in a whisper, what in the world 
the man meant ? I informed him that a Provost is a Mayor, 
and that a Belly (Baillie) is Scotch for an Alderman. 

It was a consolation to the poor sufferer to laugh once more. 
It had seemed to him in his captivity that his healthful function 
had ceased for ever. 

We made the best of our way homewards, and at a brisker 
pace than the rude apostle of the north, John Knox, would 
have approved of, discussing the wonderful advantages of a 
ritual, and their comfortless, inhuman church music. 

Acknowledging the superiority of our chapels, churches, 
and cathedral in Oxford, and the vast benefits of written ser- 
mons, after having just had painful experience how tedious a 
thing it was to listen to an extemporaneous discourse ; and, 
moreover, how distressing for the hearer to have to sit and 
wonder what monstrous extravagance, what stupid and pre- 
posterous absurdity the heavy orator, with no succor at hand, 
would utter next. 

The malicious Harriet laughed at our sufferings, and made 
herself merry with the deep dejection of her husband. 

The Catechist. 

Yet were we, poor Oxford scholars, predestined to undergo 
another trial of the same kind, but less severe, and far more 
brief, — s-harp, though short. It was notified to us one Sunday 
evening, as we were sitting together after dinner, that ^^ They 
are drawing nigh unto the Catechist, — children and domestics 
must attend." 

We had discovered that little Christie was going, and as 
we already knew something of her temporal concerns, 
(^' oh ! the kittle!") we were curious to learn a little about 
her spiritual condition. Accordingly, we followed her at a 
distance. 



HARRIET'S READINGS. II3 

At the first notification, Bysshe, to my surprise, exclaimed, 
"- Let us go ! " 

Harriet sought to dissuade him, and earnestly, as if she 
thought we were going to a place where he would probably 
have his throat cut. But persuasion availed not. We followed 
the slow advance of children and domestics still more slowly, 
and entered a roomy building, gloomy and unadorned, like a 
Kirk. A man in rusty black apparel, of a mean and some- 
what sinister aspect, was standing in the middle of the floor ; 
children and domestics were standing round him ; we remained 
in a corner. 

" Wha was Adam ? " he suddenly and loudly asked. 

Nobody answered. He appeared to be much displeased at 
their silence ; and after a while he repeated the question, in a 
louder voice, 

^' Wha was Adam?" 

Still no answer. The name is so common in these anti- 
episcopalian regions. Did he ask after Adam Black, Willie 
Adam, or Adam, late of Eden, the protoplast ; he did not limit 
his question, but put it in the most general terms. Nobody 
answered it. 

The indignation of the Catechist waxing hot, in a still louder 
and very angry tone he broke forth with, — • 

" Wha's the Deel ? '^ 

This was too much ; Shelley burst into a shrieking laugh, 
and rushed wildly out of doors. I slowly followed him, think- 
ing seriously of Elders, Presbyteries, and Kirk Synods. How- 
ever, nothing came of it ; we were not cast into prison. 

Harriet's Readings. 

It has been represented by reckless or ill-informed biogra- 
phers that Harriet was illiterate, and therefore she was not a 
fit companion for Shelley. This representation is not correct ; 
she had been well-educated ; and as the coffee-house people 
could not have taught her more than they knew themselves, 
which was little or nothing, she must have received her educa- 



114 



PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 



tion at school ; and she was unquestionably a credit to the 
establishment. 

Drawing she had never learned, at least she gave no indi- 
cations of taste or skill in that department ; her proficiency in 
music was moderate, and she seemed to have no very decided 
natural talent for it ; her accomplishments were slight, but 
with regard to acquirements of higher importance, for her 
years, she was exceedingly well read. I have seldom, if ever, 
met with a girl who had read so much as she had, or who had 
so strong an inclination for reading. I never once saw a Bible, 
a prayer-book, or any devotional work, in her hand ; I never 
heard her utter a syllable on the subject of religion, either to 
signify assent or dissent, approbation, or censure, or doubt ; 
Eucharis, or Egeria, or Antiope, could not have appeared 
more entirely uninstructed than herself in such matters. I 
never heard her say that she had been at church, or ever once 
visited any place of worship ; never, in my hearing, did she 
criticise any sermon, as is so common with the generality ot 
young ladies, or express admiration of, or curiosity concerning, 
a popular preacher. Her music was wholly secular ; of the 
existence of sacred music she seemed to be unconscious, and 
never to have heard the illustrious name of Handel. Her 
reading was not of a frivolous description ; she did not like 
light, still less trifling, ephemeral productions. Morality was 
her favorite theme ; she found most pleasure in works of a 
high ethical tone. Telemachus and Belisarius were her chosen 
companions, and other compositions of the same leaven, but 
of less celebrity. 

She was fond of reading aloud ; and she read remarkably 
well, very correctly, and with a clear, distinct, agreeable voice, 
and often emphatically. She was never weary of this exercise, 
never fatigued ; she never ceased of her own accord, and left 
off reading only on some interruption. She has read to me for 
hours and hours ; whenever we were alone together, she took 
up a book and began to read, or more commonly read aloud, 
from the work, whatever it might be, which she was reading to 
herself. If anybody entered the room she ceased to read aloud, 



ELIZA WESTBROOK. 



115 



but recommenced the moment he retired. I was grateful for 
her kindness ; she has read to me grave and excellent books 
innumerable. If some few of these were a little wearisome, 
on the whole I profited greatly by her lectures. I have some- 
times certainly wished for rather less of the trite moral dis- 
courses of Idomeneus and Justinian, which are so abundant in 
her two favorite authors, and a little more of something less in 
the nature of truisms ; but I never showed any signs of impa- 
tience. In truth, the good girl liked a piece of resistance, a 
solid tome, where a hungry reader might read and come again. 
I have sometimes presumed to ask her to read some particular 
work, but never to object to anything which she herself pro- 
posed. If it was agreeable to listen to her, it was not less 
agreeable to look at her ; she was always pretty, always bright, 
always blooming ; smart, usually plain in her neatness ; without 
a spot, without a wrinkle, not a hair out of its place. The 
ladies said of her, that she always looked as if she had just 
that moment stepped out of a glass-case ; and so indeed she 
did. And they inquired, how that could be ? The answer was 
obvious ; she passed her whole life in reading aloud, and when 
that was not permitted, in reading to herself, and invariably 
works of a calm, soothing, tranquillizing, sedative tendency ; 
and in such an existence there could be nothing to stain, to spot, 
to heat, to tumble, to cause any the slightest disorder of the hair 
or dress. Hers was the most distinct utterance I ever heard ; I 
do not believe that I lost a single word of the thousands of 
pages which she read to me. Of course I never dared to yield 
to sleep, even when the virtuous Idomeneus was giving wise 
laws to Crete, and therefore I am now alive to write our simple 
story. 

The more drowsy Bysshe would sometimes drop off : his 
innocent slumbers gave serious offence, and his neglect was 
fiercely resented ; he was stigmatized as an inattentive wretch. 

Eliza Westbrook. 

This harbinger of all felicity was her sister ; she had no 
brothers, and only one sister, an elder sister ; old enough, in- 



Il6 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 

deed, to have been her mother. She bore her sister great love, 
or perhaps she had entire faith in her ; she worshipped her, 
not so much through a feeUng of veneration, but a strong sense 
of paramount duty, and yielded her implicit, unreasoning obedi- 
ence. Her mother was as dignified as silk and satin could 
make her, and was fully capable of sitting all day long with her 
hands before her, but utterly incapable of aught besides, good 
or bad, except possibly of hearing herself addressed occasion- 
ally as Mamma. Eliza had tended, guided, and ruled Harriet 
from her earliest infancy ; she doubtless had married her, had 
made the match, had put her up to everything that was to be 
said, or done, as Shelley's letters plainly show ; and she was 
now about to come on board again, after a short absence on 
shore, to hoist her flag at the mast head, to take the entire 
command, and for ever to regulate and direct the whole course 
of her married life. Eliza, I was told, was beswitiful, exqui- 
sitely beautiful ; an elegant figure, full of grace ; her face was 
lovely, — dark bright eyes ; jet black hair, glossy ; a crop upon 
which she bestowed the care it merited, — almost all her time ; 
and she was so sensible, so amiable, so good ! 

Bysshe's return was ardently desired ; partly for his own sake, 
but principally on account of the lost treasure, which he was 
to restore, and whose protracted absence began to be severely 
felt, on account of the rich freight of beauty and virtue which 
the homeward-bound vessel would surely bring back. 

One evening, I returned to our lodgings from a stroll after 
dinner, and found to my surprise that the peerless Eliza had 
arrived. 

Harriet was seated on the sofa by the side of her good ge- 
nius, her guardian angel, her familiar demon : — ** Eliza has 
come ; was it not good of her ; so kind ? "' I was presented to 
her. She hardly deigned to notice me. 

Such neglect on the part of so superior a being, although a 
barmaid by origin, or at best a daughter of the house, appeared 
reasonable enough. 

^' I thought Bysshe was to have brought you with him." 

'' Oh dear, no ! " 



ELIZA WESTBROOK. 



117 



The tea things were on the table ; the new comer was of too 
sublime a nature to endure the contact of a tea-pot, and poor 
Harriet's being was too highly sublimated by the august pres- 
ence to attend, as usual, to the vulgar requisitions of the tea- 
table. The case was important and urgent. 

''Shall I make tea?" 

This was not forbidden, and it was made. Eliza looked con- 
temptuously at the cup of tea, which I placed before her. 
Harriet descended from the seventh heaven so far as to stir, 
and even to sip, her tea. I helped myself freely, like a good 
Philistine as I was, whilst the music of the spheres held its 
thrilling course. Poor little Harriet was wrapt in ecstasy ; she 
whispered inaudibly to Eliza : Eliza sighed, and returned a still 
lower whisper. 

I had ample leisure to contemplate the acquisition to our 
domestic circle. She was older than I had expected, and she 
looked much older than she was. The lovely face was seamed 
with the small-pox, and of a dead white, as faces so much 
marked and scarred commonly are ; as white, indeed, as a 
mass of boiled rice, but of a dingy hue, like rice boiled in dirty 
water. The eyes were dark, but dull, and without meaning ; 
the hair was black and glossy, but coarse ; and there was the 
admired crop, — a long crop, much like the tail of a horse, — a 
switch tail. The fine figure was meagre, prim, and constrained. 
The beauty, the grace, and the elegance existed, no doubt, in 
their utmost perfection, but only in the imagination of her par- 
tial young sister. Her father, as Harriet told me, was famil- 
iarly called ''Jew Westbrook," and Eliza greatly resembled 
one of the dark-eyed daughters of Judah. 

The arrival of Bysshe was acknowledged by Harriet, but it 
was plain that he had been superseded ; Eliza once or twice 
betrayed a faint consciousness of his presence, as if the lamp 
of her life had been faintly glimmering in its socket, which for- 
tunately it was not ; that was all the notice she took of her 
sister's husband. His course, therefore, was plain ; his peace 
might have been assured ; whether his happiness would ever 
have been great, may well be doubted. It was absolutely nee- 



1 1 8 PER CY B YSSHE SHELLE V. 

essary to declare peremptorily, " Either Eliza goes, or I go ; '* 
and instantly to act upon the declaration. This so necessary 
course the poor fellow did not take ; and it is certain that the 
Divine Poet could not have taken it, for with super-human 
strength, weakness less than human was strangely blended ; 
accordingly, from the days of the blessed advent, our destinies 
were entirely changed. The house lay, as it were, under an 
interdict ; all our accustomed occupations were suspended ; 
study was forbidden ; reading was injurious — to read aloud 
might terminate fatally ; to go abroad was death, to stay at 
home the grave ! Bysshe became nothing ; I, of course, very 
much less than nothing — a negative quantity of a very high 
figure. 

Harriet still existed, it was true ; but her existence w^as to be 
in future a seraphic life, a beatific vision, to be passed exclu- 
sively in the assiduous contemplation of Eliza's infinite perfec- 
tions. 

That all this was very well meant, very disinterested, kind, 
benevolent, sisterly, it would be unjust to deny, or even to 
doubt ; but it was all the more pernicious on that account. 

Before the angelic visit, we had never heard of Harriet's 
nerves, we had never once suspected that such organs existed ; 
now we heard of little else. ^'Dearest Harriet, you must not 
do that ; think of your nerves ; only consider, dearest, the state 
of your nerves ; Harriet, dear, you must not eat this ; you are 
not going to drink that, surely ; whatever v>^ill become of your 
poor nerves ? Gracious heaven ! What would Miss Warne 
say ? " 

Miss Warne was the highest sanction ; her name was often 
invoked, and her judgment appealed to. '^ What will Miss 
Warne say?" That single, simple, but momentous c^uestion 
set every other question at rest. 

Who was Miss Warne ? I inquired of the now nervous Har- 
riet. She informed me, that she stood in the same relation to 
some coffee-house or hotel in London, as the lovely Eliza; she 
was a daughter of the house ; a mature virgin also, quite ripe, 
perhaps rather too mellow; a prim old maid indeed, an old 



ELIZA WESTBROOK. 



119 



frump, she said ; there was nothing particular about her in any 
way ; but Eliza had the highest opinion of Miss Warne ; she 
had been long her bosom friend ! 

Eliza was vigilant, keeping a sharp look-out after the nerves ; 
yet was she frequently off duty ; her time was chiefly spent 
in her bed-room. What does that dear Eliza do alone in her 
bed-room? Does she read? No. — Does she work? Never. 
— Does she write ? No. — What does she do, then ? 

Harriet came quite close to me, and answered in a whisper, 
lest peradventure her sister should hear her, with the serious 
air of one who communicates some profound and weighty 
secret, '' She brushes her hair ! " The coarse black hair was 
glossy, no doubt ; but to give daily sixteen hours out of four- 
and-twenty to it, Avas certainly to bestow much time on a crop. 
Yet it was by no means impossible, that whilst she plied her 
hair-brush, she Avas revolving in her mind dearest Harriet's 
best interests ; or seriously reflecting upon what Miss Warne 
would say. 

The poor Poet was overwhelmed by the affectionate inva- 
sion ; he lay prostrated and helpless, under the insupport- 
able pressure of our domiciliary visit ; but the good Harriet 
knew how, school-girl like, and contrary to her sisterly alle- 
giance, sometimes to take advantage, by stealth, of dear 
Eliza's absence. ^' Come quite close to me, and I will read 
tj you. I must not speak loud, lest I should disturb poor 
Eliza." 

Sometimes she could escape for a short walk before dinner. 
One day, whilst the guardian angel kept on brushing, we 
brushed off, and wandered to the river. We stood on the high 
centre of the old Roman bridge ; there was a mighty flood ; 
father Ouse had overflowed his banks, carrying away with him 
timber and what not. 

'' Is it not an interesting, a surprising sight ? " 

'^ Yes, it is very wonderful. But, dear Harriet, how nicely 
that dearest Eliza would spin down the river ! How sweetly 
she would turn round and round, like that log of wood ! And, 
gracious heaven, what would Miss Warne say ? " 



1 20 PE.R CY B YSSHE SHELLE Y, 

She turned her pretty face away, and laughed — as a slave 
laughs, who is beginning to grow weary of an intolerable yoke. 

Harriet talks of Suicide. 

^^ What is your opinion of suicide ? Did you never think of 
destroying yourself ? " It was a puzzling question indeed, for 
the thought had never entered my head. 

'^ What do you think of matricide ; of high treason ; of rick- 
burning ? Did you never think of killing any one ; of murder- 
ing your mother ; of setting stack-yards on fire?" I had never 
contemplated the commission of any of these crimes, and I 
should scarcely have been more astonished if I had been inter- 
rogated concerning my dispositions and inclinations with re- 
spect to them, than I was when, early in our acquaintance, the 
good Harriet asked me, '' What do you think of suicide ? " 

She often discoursed of her purpose of killing herself some 
day or other, and at great length, in a calm, resolute manner. 
She told me that at school, where she was very unhappy, as 
she said, but I could never discover why she was so, for she 
was treated with much kindness and exceedingly well instructed, 
she had conceived and contrived sundry attempts and purposes 
of destroying herself. It is possible that her sister had assured 
her that she was very unhappy, and had supported the assur- 
ance by the incontrovertible opinion of Miss Warne, and of 
course Harriet became firmly convinced of her utter wretched- 
ness. She got up in the night, she said, sometimes with a fixed 
intention of making away with herself — in what manner she did 
not unfold — and bade a long farewell to the world, looked out 
of the window, taking leave of the bright moon and of all sub- 
lunary things, and then, it should seem, got into bed again and 
went quietly to sleep, and rose in the morning and wrote neatly 
upon her slate, in the school-room at Clapham, the admirable 
ordinances of Idomeneus and Numa Pompilius as sedately as 
before. 

She spoke of self-murder serenely before strangers ; and at 
a dinner party I have heard her describe her feelings, opinions, 
and intentions with respect to suicide with prolix earnestness ; 



SHELLEY AND SO UTILE Y, 121 

and she looked so calm, so tranquil, so blooming, and so hand- 
some, that the astonished guests smiled. She once, in particu- 
lar — I well remember the strange scene and the astonishment 
of the harmless company — at a Pythagorean dinner in the 
house of a medical philosopher, scattered dismay am.ongst a 
quiet party of vegetable-eaters, persons who would not slay a 
shrimp, or extinguish animal life in embro by eating an ^%z^ 
by asking, whether they did not feel sometimes strongly in- 
clined to kill themselves. 

The poor girl's monomania of self-destruction, which we 
long looked upon as a vain fancy, a baseless delusion, an in- 
consequent hallucination of the mind, amused us occasionally 
for some years ; eventually it proved a sad reality, and drew 
forth many bitter tears. 

Shelley and Southey. 

How Bysshe made the acquaintance of Southey, whether by 
personal or epistolary introduction, or through poetic sympa- 
thy, 1 never knew. 

Concerning the intercourse of these two remarkable persons, 
I have heard from Shelley, and from others, several anecdotes. 

'^ Southey had a large collection of books, very many of them 
old books, some rare works, — books in many languages, more 
particularly in Spanish. The sliehes extended over the walls 
of every room in his large, dismal house in Keswick ; they were 
in the bed-rooms, and even down the stairs. This I never saw 
elsewhere. I took out some volume one day, as I was going 
down stairs with him. Southey looked at me, as if he was dis- 
pleased, so I put it back again instantly, and I never ventured 
to take down one of his books another time. I used to glance 
my eye eagerly over the backs of the books, and read their 
titles, as I went up or down stairs. I could not help doing so, 
but I think he did not quite approve of it." 

"" Do you know that Southey did not like to have his books 
touched. Do you know why ? " 

" No! I do not know." 

** You do not know ? How I hate that there should be any 
6 



122 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 

thing which you do not know ! For who will tell me if you will 
not ? " ' 

^^I only know that persons who have large libraries some- 
times have the same feeling." 

'^ How strange that a man should have many thousands of 
books, and should have a secret in every book, which he can- 
not bear that anybody should know but himself. How rare and 
grim ! Do you believe, then, that Southey really had a secret 
in every one of his books ? " 

"' No ! I do not, indeed, Bysshe." 

After musing for some minutes, he added: ^' There were 
not secrets in all his books, certainly, for he often took one 
down himself and showed me some remarkable passage ; and 
then he would let me keep it as long as I pleased, and turn 
over the leaves, if he had taken it down himself; so there could 
be no secret there. And yet," he continued, after further re- 
flection, ^^ perhaps there was a secret; but he thought that I 
could not find it out." 

''Were the passages which he showed you really remark- 
able ? " 

" They might be, sometimes ; but for the most part they 
v»--ere not ; at least, I did not think them so. They usually ap- 
peared trifling. He never discussed any subject ; he gave his 
own opinion, commonly, in a very absolute manner ; he used 
to lay down the law, to dogmatize. What he said was seldom 
his own, — it seldom came from himself. He repeated long 
quotations, read extracts which he had made, or took down 
books and read from them aloud, or pointed out something 
for me to read, which would settle the matter at once with- 
out appeal. His conversation was rather interesting, and 
only moderately instructive ; he was not so much a man as 
a living common-place book, a talking album filled with 
long extracts from long-forgotten authors on unimportant sub- 
jects. Still his intercourse was very agreeable. I liked much 
to be with him; besides, he was a good man and" exceedingly 
kind." 

When Southey died his books were brought to the hammer 



SHELLEY AND SOUTHEY. 



123 



— as the phrase is. I picked up a few of them, rather as me- 
morials than for their intrinsic value. Several of these were 
bound in the Chinese fashion, as I had heard that many of his 
books were, that is to say, in silk, cloth, velvet, and not in 
leather. 

Mrs. Southey had been a milliner at Bath, a certain Miss 

* a lovely creature, as I have been told, as every Bath 

milliner ought to be ; and no doubt a very estimable person. 
After her marriage she used up her remnants in a truly conju- 
gal and most beneficial manner, in binding strongly and very 
neatly such of her husband's books as required it. I possess 
one of these bound with a bit of modest gingham, and another 
in a pretty piece of Irish poplin ; both volumes are likewise 
adorned by the autograph of the author of Madoc ; they are 
therefore, on all accounts, to be cherished. 

In associating with Southey, not only was it necessary to 
salvation to refrain from touching his books, but various rites, 
ceremonies, and usages must be rigidly observed. At certain 
appointed hours only was he open to conversation ; at the 
seasons which had been predestined from all eternity for hold- 
ing intercourse with his friends. Every hour of the day had 
its commission — every half-hour was assigned to its own pecu- 
liar, undeviating function. The indefatigable student gave a 
detailed account of his most painstaking life, every moment of 
which was fully employed and strictly pre-arranged, to a cer- 
tain literary Quaker lady. 

" I rise at five throughout the year ; from six till eight I read 
Spanish ; then French, for one hour ; Portuguese, next, for 
half an hour, — my watch lying on the table ; I give two hours 
to poetry ; I write prose for two hours ; I translate so long ; I 

* [Edith Fricker. Southey married her on the 14th of Novemher. 1795, at Randiff 
Church, Bristol. "Immediately after the ceremony they parted," writes his son, the 
Rev. Cuthbert Southey. " My mother wore her wedding ring hung round her neck, 
and preserved her maiden name until the report of their marriage had spread abroad." 
Joseph Cottle was very kind to the lovers. "The very money with which I bought 
my wedding ring," Southey wrote in 1808, "and paid my marriage fees was supplied 
by you." Coleridge married one of the Misses Fricker, for there were three of them, 
Sara, and Lovell I think another. — S.] 



124 



PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 



make extracts so long ; " and so of the rest, until the poor 
fellow had fairly fagged himself into his bed again. 

^^And, pray, when dost thou think, friend?" she asked, 
drily, to the great discomfiture of the future Laureate. 

From morn till night, from the cradle to the grave, the hard 
reading, hard writing pansophist had never once found a single 
spare moment for such a purpose. The fable, if it be a fable, 
is told of thee, too, dearest Bysshe. Shelley also was always 
reading ; at his meals a book lay by his side, on the table, 
open. Tea and foast were often neglected, his author seldom ; 
his mutton and potatoes might grow cold ; his interest in a 
work never cooled. He invariably sallied forth, book in hand, 
reading to himself, if he was alone, if he had a companion 
reading aloud. He took a volume to bed with him, and read 
as long as his candle lasted ; he then slept — impatiently, no 
doubt — until it was light, and he recommenced reading at the 
early dawn. One day we were walking together, arm-in-arm, 
under the gate of the Middle Temple, in Fleet Street ; Shelley, 
with open book, was reading aloud ; a man with an apron said 
to a brother operative, ''' See, there are two of your damnation 
lawyers ; they are always reading ! " The tolerant philosopher 
did not choose to be reminded that he had once been taken for 
a lawyer ; he declared the fellow was an ignorant wretch ! He 
was loth to leave his book to go to bed, and frequently sat up 
late reading ; sometimes indeed he remained at his studies all 
night. In consequence of this great watching, and of almost 
incessant reading, he would often fall asleep in the day-time — • 
dropping off in a moment — like an infant. He often quietly 
transferred himself from his chair to the floor, and slept soundly 
on the carpet, and in the winter upon the rug, basking in the 
warmth like a cat ; and like a cat his little round head was 
roasted before a blazing fire. If any one humanely covered 
the poor head to shield it from the heat, the covering was im- 
patiently put aside in his sleep. ^' You make your brains boil, 
Bysshe. I have seen and heard the steam rushing out violently 
at your nostrils and ears ! " 



SOUTHEY'S EPIC. 125 



Southey's Epic. 

Southey was addicted to reading his terrible epics — before 
they were printed — to any one who seemed to be a fit subject 
for the cruel experiment. He soon set his eyes on the new 
comer, and one day having effected the caption of Shelley, he 
immediately lodged him securely in a little study up-stairs, 
carefully locking the door upon himself and his prisoner and 
putting the key in his waistcoat-pocket. There was a window 
in the room, it is true, but it was so high above the ground 
that Baron Trenck himself would not have attempted it. 
'^ Now you shall be delighted," Southey said ; " but sit down." 
Poor Bysshe sighed, and took his seat at the table. The author 
seated himself opposite, and placing his MS. on the table 
before him, began to read slowly and distinctly. The poem, 
if I mistake not, was " The Curse of Kehama." * Charmed 
with his own composition the admiring author read on, varying 
his voice occasionally, to point out the finer passages and invite 
applause. There was no commendation ; no criticism ; all 
was hushed. This was strange. Southey raised his eyes from 
the neatly-written MS. ; Shelley had disappeared. This was 
still more strange. Escape was impossible ; every precaution 
had been taken, yet he had vanished. Shelley had glided 
noiselessly from his chair to the floor, and the insensible young 
Vandal lay buried in profound sleep underneath the table. 
No wonder the indignant and injured bard afterwards enrolled 
the sleeper as a member of the Satanic school, and inscribed 
his name, together with that of Byron, on a gibbet ! I have 
been told on his own authority, that wherever Southey passed 
the night in travelling, he bought some book, if it were possi- 
ble to pick one up on a stall, or in a shop, and wrote his own 
name and the name of the place at the bottom of the title- 
page, and the date, including the day of the week. This 
inscription, he found, served in some measure the purpose of a 

[* It could not have been "The Curse of Kehama," for it was already in print; 
but it might have been *' Roderick, the Last of the Goths," which was published ill 
1814.-S.] 



126 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, 

journal, for when he looked at such a date it reminded him, 
through the association of ideas, of many particulars of his 
journey. I have a small volume in the German language, thus 
inscribed by Southey, at the foot of the title-page ; the place 
is some town in France. 

Mrs. Southey's Tea-Cakes. 

Bysshe chanced to call, one afternoon, during his residence 
at Keswick, on his new acquaintance, a man eminent, and of 
rare epic fertility. It was at four o'clock ; Southey and his 
wife were sitting together at their tea after an early dinner, for 
it was washing-day. A cup of tea was offered, which was ac- 
cepted, and a plate piled high with tea-cakes was handed to 
the illustrious visitor ; of these he refused to partake, with 
signs of strong aversion. He was always abstemious in his 
diet, at this period of his life peculiarly so ; a thick hunch of 
dry bread, possibly a slice of brown bread and butter, might 
have been welcome to the Spartan youth ; but hot tea-cakes 
heaped up, in scandalous profusion, well buttered, blushing 
with currants or sprinkled thickly with carraway-seeds, and 
reeking with allspice, shocked him grievously. It was a Per- 
sian apparatus, which he detested, — a display of excessive and 
unmanly luxury by which the most powerful empires have 
been overthrown, — that threatened destruction to all social 
order, and would have rendered abortive even the divine 
Plato's scheme of a frugal and perfect republic. A poet's 
dinner is never a very heavy meal ; on a washing-day, we may 
readily believe, that it is as light as his own fancy. So far in 
the day Southey, no doubt, had fared sparingly ; he was a 
hale, healthy, hearty man, breathing the keen mountain air, 
and working hard, too hard, poor fellow ; he was hungry, and 
did not shrink from the tea-cakes wliich had been furnished to 
make up for his scanty mid-day repast. Shelley watched his 
unworthy proceedings, eying him with pain and pity. Southey 
had not noticed his distress, but he held his way, clearing the 
plates of buttered currant-cakes, and buttered seed-cakes, 
with an equal relish. 



MRS. SOUTHEY'S TEA-CAKES. 127 

*^ Why ! good God, Southey ! " Bysshe suddenly exclaimed, 
for he could no longer contain his boiling indignation, '' \ am 
ashamed of you ! It is awful, horrible, to see such a man as 
you are greedily devouring this nasty stuff ! " 

*' Nasty stuff, indeed ! How dare you call my tea-cakes 
nasty stuff, sir ? " 

Mrs. Southey was charming, but it is credibly reported that 
she was also rather sharp. 

''Nasty stuff! What right have you, pray, Mr. Shelley, to 
come into my house, and to tell me to my face that my tea- 
cakes, which I made myself, are nasty ; and to blame my 
husband for eating them ? How in the world can they be 
nasty ? I washed my hands well before I made them, and I 
sprinkled them with flour. The board and the rolling-pin were 
quite clean ; they had been well scraped and sprinkled with 
flour. The flour was taken out of the meal-tub, which is 
always kept locked ; here is the key ! There was nothing 
nasty in the ingredients, I am sure ; we have a very good 
grocer in Keswick. Do you suppose that I would put anything 
nasty into them ? What right have you to call them nasty ; 
you ought to be ashamed of yourself, and not Mr. Southey ; 
he surely has a right to eat what his wife puts before him ! 
Nasty stuff ! I like your impertinence ! '* 

In the course of this animated invective, Bysshe put his face 
close to the plate, and curiously scanned the cakes. He then 
took-up a piece and ventured to taste it, and, finding it very 
good, he began to eat as greedily as Southey himself The 
servant, a neat, stout, little, ruddy Cumberland girl, with a 
very white apron, brought in a fresh supply ; these also the 
brother philosophers soon despatched, eating one against the 
other in generous rivalry. Shelley then asked for more, but no 
more were to be had ; the whole batch had been consumed. 
The lovely Edith was pacified on seeing that her cakes were 
relished by the two hungry poets, and she expressed her regret 
that she did not know that Mr. Shelley was coming to take tea 
with her, or she would have made a larger provision. Harriet,, 
who told me the tale, added : *' We were to have hot tea-cakes 



128 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 

every evening ' for ever.' I was to make them myself, and 
Mrs. Southey was to teach me." 

"• More Bacon." 

The Divine Poet, Hke many other wiser men, used to pass 
very readily and suddenly from one extreme to the other. I 
myself witnessed, some years later, a like rapid transition. 
When he resided at Bishopsgate, I usually walked down from 
London, and spent Sunday with him. One frosty Saturday, in 
the middle of the winter, being overcome by hunger, I halted 
by the way — it was a rare occurrence — for refreshment, at a 
humble inn on Hounslow Heath. I had just taken my seat on 
a Windsor chair, at a small round beechen table in a little 
dark room with a well-sanded floor, when I saw Bysshe striding 
past the window. He was coming to meet me ; I went to the 
door, and hailed him, 

^' Come along ! It is dusk ; tea will be ready ; we shall be 
late ! " 

*' No ! I must have something to eat first ; come in ! " 

He walked about the room impatiently. 

*^ When will your dinner be ready; what have you or- 
dered ? " 

** I asked for eggs and bacon, but they have no eggs ; I am 
to have some fried bacon." 

He was struck with horror, and his agony was increased at 
the appearance of my dinner. Bacon was proscribed by him ; 
it was gross and abominable. It distressed him greatly at first 
to see me eat the bacon ; but he gradually approached the 
dish, and, studying the bacon attentively, said, ^'So this is 
bacon!" He then ate a small piece. '* It is not so bad 
either ! " More was ordered ; he devoured it voraciously. 

'' Bring more bacon ! " It was brought, and eaten. 

'^ Let us have another plate." 

"I am very sorry, gentlemen," said the old woman, ^^but 
indeed I have no more in the house." 

The Poet was angry at the disappointment, and rated her. 

'* What business has a woman to keep an inn, who has not 



SHELLEY LN LR ELAND, 



129 



enough bacon in the house for her guests ? She ought to be 
killed ! " 

^' Really, gentlemen, I am very sorry to be out of bacon ; 
but I only keep by me as much as I think will be wanted. I 
can easily get more from Staines ; they have very good bacon 
always in Staines ! " 

*^ As there is nothing more to be had, come along, Bysshe ; 
let us go home to tea ! " 

** No ! Not yet; she is going to Staines, to get us some 
more bacon." 

*' She cannot go to-night ; come along ! " 

He departed with reluctance, grumbling as we walked home- 
wards at the scanty store of bacon, lately condemned as gross 
and abominable. The dainty rustic food made a strong im- 
pression upon his lively fancy, for when we arrived the first 
words he uttered were, '' We have been eating bacon together 
on Hounslow Heath, and do you know it was very nice. Can- 
not we have bacon here, Mary ? " 

*^ Yes, you can, if you please ; but not to-night. Here is 
your tea ; take that ! " 

^^ I had rather have some more bacon ! " sighed tlje Poet. 

Shelley in Ireland. 

On the 1 2th of February, 1812, a young Englishman, with 
his wife and sister-in-law, arrived in the capital of Ireland, and 
took up his residence in the principal street of that city. The 
gentleman had completed his nineteenth year a few months 
before, but still preserved the appearance of a boy. His wife, 
remarkable for her fair and girlish beauty, was still younger 
than her husband, and her sister, the eldest of the party, was 
but little in advance of her companions as to age. This not 
very formidable-looking trio had come to Ireland on a business 
of no small importance, for which they had been long prepar- 
ing. Their object was, '^as far as in them lay" — to use the 
language of the chief organizer — to effect a fundamental change 
in the constitution of the British Empire, to restore to Ireland 
its native Parliament, to carry the great measure of justice 
6^ 



I30 



PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 



called Catholic Emancipation, and to establish a philanthropic 
association for the amelioration of human society all over the 
world. The young man was perfectly unknown in Ireland, or 
even in England outside the circle of his own family and a few 
friends. He had published anonymously two or three little 
books, both in prose and verse, which perhaps may be consid- 
ered the least promising first attempts ever made public by a 
man of genms. 

On the I2th of February, 1812, he arrived an unknown stran- 
ger ; by the 27th of the same month he had already become 
famous. To use his own language in an unpublished letter, he 
had within that short time ^^ excited a sensation of wonder in 
Dublin," and ^' expectation was on the tiptoe." The day fol- 
lowing the date of this letter he made his first public appear- 
ance in a great assembly, \vhich he roused to enthusiasm by his 
fervid eloquence, and a week later appeared the first of the in- 
numerable papers which year after year, and perhaps century 
after century, were destined to be written upon the genius and 
the story of that then unknown young man, under the now 
familiar headline of Percy Bysshe Shelley. 

[Just before leaving Keswick Shelley had introduced himself 
to Godwin by letter. It was answered, and a correspondence 
ensued. It is rather dull reading in spite of the reputation of 
one of the writers, and the genius of the other. '' I have been 
preparing an address to the Catholics of Ireland, which, how- 
ever deficient may be its execution, I can by no means admit 
that it contains one sentiment which cait harm the cause of 
liberty and happiness. It consists of the benevolent and toler- 
ant deductions of philosophy reduced into the simplest lan- 
guage. I know it can do no harm ; it cannot excite rebellion, 
as its main principle is to trust the success of a cause to the 
energy of its truth. It cannot ' widen the breach between the 
kingdoms,' as it attempts to convey to the vulgar mind senti- 
ments of universal philanthropy ; and whatever impressions it 
may produce, they can be no other but those of peace and 
harmony ; it owns no religion but benevolence, no cause but 
virtue, no party but the world. I shall devote myself with un- 



SHELLEY LN LRELAND. I3I 

remitting zeal, as far as an uncertain state of health will permit, 
towards forwarding the great ends of virtue and happiness in 
Ireland, regarding as I do the present state of that country's 
affairs as an opportunity which, if I, being thus disengaged, 
permit to pass unoccupied, I am umvorthy of the character 
which I have assumed." Two days after his arrival in Dublin, 
he wrote to a female correspondent that he had nothing to fear 
there but Government, which would not dare to be so bare- 
facedly oppressive as to attack his Address, which would breathe 
the spirit of peace, toleration, and patience. Godwin had given 
him a letter of introduction to the Hon. John Philpot Curran, 
the Master of the Rolls, but no attention was paid to it. *' He 
seems studiously to have kept out of his way," Mr. MacCar- 
thy observes, ^^ and Shelley did not succeed even in seeing him 
until some time after the i8th of March — a period of at least 
five or six weeks. Godwin had some misgivings as to the re- 
ception Shelley possibly might meet with ; for before the latter 
had made any complaint of inattention, he wrote to him in the 
following words: — "''How did you manage with Curran? I 
hope you have seen him. I should not wonder, however, if 
your pamphlet has frightened him. You should have left my 
letter with your card the first time you called, and then it was 
his business to have sought you." But this is precisely what 
Shelley had done ten days before his pamphlet was printed ; 
and in those ten days it is plain that Curran had not thought it 
his business to walk over to Sackville Street to seek Shelley. 
The Address to the Irish People was first announced for publi- 
cation on Tuesday, February 25th, 1812. In The Dublin 
Evening Post of that day is the following advertisement : — 

This day is published, price Fivepence, to he had of all the Booksellers^ 

AN ADDRESS TO THE IRISH PEOPLE. 

By Percy B. Shelley. 

" Adver riSRMENT. — The lowest possible price is set on this publication, because it 
is the intention of the Author to awaken in the minds of the Irish poor a knowledge 
of their real state, summarily pointing out the evils of that state, and suggesting ra- 
tional means of remedy. — Catholic Emancipation, and a Repeal of the Union Act (the 
latter the most successful engine that England ever wielded over the misery of fallen 



132 



PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 



Ireland) being treated of in the following Address, as grievances which unanimity and 
resolution may remove, and associations conducted with peaceable firmness, being 
earnestly recommended as means for embodying that unanimity and firmness which 
must finally be successful." 

Shelley's Address to the Irish People came from the printer's 
hand on the 24th of February, 1812. On that day, as we have 
seen, he sent an early copy by post to Godwin. On the follow- 
ing day, the 25th, the pamphlet was published. The adver- 
tisement which appeared in the Ditblin Eve7iing Post of that date 
has already been given. We may be sure that one of the earliest 
copies presented personally by Shelley was to the Master of 
the Rolls. '' I have not seen Mr. Curran," says Shelley, in a 
letter to Godwin of the 8th of March. ^^ I have called repeat- 
edly, left my address and my pamphlet. I will see him before 
I leave Dublin." On the day of publication he sent a copy of 
the Address to the Irish People to Hamilton Rowan, with the 
following letter : — 

'* 7, Lower Sackville Street, Feb. 25th, 1812. 

^' Sir, — Although I have not the pleasure of being person- 
ally known to you, I consider the motives which actuated me 
in writing the inclosed sufficiently introductory to authorize me 
in sending you some copies, and waiving ceremonials in a case 
where public benefit is concerned. Sir, although an English- 
man, I feel for Ireland ; and I have left the country in which 
the chance of birth placed me for the sole purpose of adding 
my little stock of usefulness to the fund which I hope that Ire- 
land possesses to aid me in the unequal yet sacred combat in 
which she is engaged. In the course of a few days more I shall 
print another small pamphlet, which shall be sent to you. I 
have intentionally vulgarized the language of the enclosed. I 
have printed 1500 copies, and am now distributing them 
throughout Dublin. 

" Sir, with respect, 

'' I am your obedient humble servant, 

" P. B. Shelley." 

The two days that followed the writing of the letter to Hamil- 



SHELLEY IJSf IRELAND. 



133 



ton Rowan must have been busy and exciting ones for Shelley. 
How he was occupied, and the extraordinary steps he took to 
circulate his pamphlet among the people of Dublin, will be best 
shown by the following copious extracts from a hitherto un- 
published letter of Shelley to his philosophical female friend at 
Hurstpierpoint in Sussex. Long as these extracts are, they 
form only a portion of the letter. I have selected only those 
passages that refer to the public objects he had in view — such 
explanations as seem needful will be given at the end. 

From an unpublished letter of Shelley to Miss Hitchener, 

"Feb. 27 [1812], 7, Lower Sackville Street. 

*' I have already sent 400 of my Irish pamphlets into the 
world, and they have excited a sensation of wonder in Dublin. 
1 100 yet remain for distribution. Copies have been sent to 
sixty public-houses. No prosecution is yet attempted. I do 
not see how it can be. Congratulate me, my friend, for every- 
thing proceeds well. I could hot expect more rapid success. 
The persons with whom I have got acquainted approve of my 
principles .... but they differ from the mode of my improv- 
ing their principles." .... [Referring to his wish to have his 
friend with him in Dublin, he says that it did not arise from 
any private partiality], ^^ but because you would share with me 
the high delight of awaking a noble nation from the lethargy of 
its bondage. Expectation is on the tip-toe. I send a man out 
every-day to distribute copies, with instructions where and 
how to give them. His account corresponds with the multi- 
tudes of people who possess them. I stand at the balcony of 
our window, and watch till I see a man who looks likely. I 
throw a book to him. On Monday my next book makes its 
appearance ; this is addressed to a different class, recommend- 
ing and proposing associations. I have in my mind a plan for 
proselytizing the young men at Dublin College. Those who 
are not entirely given up to the grossness of dissipation are 
perhaps reclaimable." .... ^* Whilst you are with us in 
Wales I shall attempt to organize one there" [that is, a ^'phil- 



134 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 

anthropic association"], which will co-operate with the Dublin 
one. Might I not extend them all over England, and quietly 
revolutionize the country ? " .... '^ My j/d?////ns much against 
me here. Strange that truth should not be judged by its in- 
herent excellence, independent of any reference to the utterer. 
To improve on this advajztage, the servant gave out I was 
only fifteen years of age." .... ^^ I have not yet seen Curran. 
I do not like him for accepting the office of Master " [of the 
Rolls]. " O'Connor, brother to the rebel Arthur, is here." [I 
have] ^Svritten to him. Do not fear what you say in your 
letters. . I am resolved. Good principles are scarce here. The 
public papers are either Oppositionists or Ministerial. One is 
as contemptible and narrow as the other. I wish I could 
change this. I am of course hated by both of those parties. 
The remnant of united Irishmen whose wrongs make them hate 
Englandj I have more hope of. I have met with no determined 
republicans, but have found some who are democratz/^^z^/^." 
,...'' We shall leave this place at the end of April. I must 
not be idle in Wales : there you will come to us. Bring the 
dear little Americans, resign your school, and live with us for 
ever." 

The postcript is by Harriet. 

^^ Percy has given me his letter to fill up, but what I'm to 
say I really do not know. Oh, yesterday I received a most 

affectionate letter from dear Mrs. C " [probably Calvert]. 

^' Now don't you be jealous when I mention her name. She 
is afraid we shall effect no good here, and thinks our opinions 
will change of the Irish. We have seen very little of them as 
yet, but when Percy is more known, I suppose that we shall 
know more at the same time. My pen is very bad, according 
to custom. I am sure you would laugh were you to see us give 
the pamphlets. We throw them out of window, and give them 
to men that we pass in the streets. For myself I am ready to 
die of laughter when it is done, and Percy looks so grave. 
Yesterday he put one into a woman's hood of a cloak. She 



SHELLEY LN IRELAND. 



135 



knew nothing of it, and we passed her and could hardly get on, 
my muscles (?) were so irritated. "(?) 

There is a second postscript by Shelley. 

''' I have been necessarily called away whilst Harriet has 
been scribbling. You may guess how much my time is taken 
up. Adieu — the post will go. You will soon hear again from 
your affectionate and unalterable Percy." 

The whole of these curious extracts will be read with interest, 
particularly perhaps the girlish and simple postscript of Harriet. 
The eleven hundred copies of the Address to the Irish People 
which remained for distribution seem to have been almost all 
dispersed by the i8th of March. It is to be noticed that at 
the moment when Shelley *' could not expect more rapid suc- 
cess," he had fixed the time of his intended departure from 
Ireland. This disposes of the statement so frequently re- 
peated that Shelley abandoned his Irish project in disgust. 
The man whom Shelley sent out every day to distribute the 
pamphlets, was in all probability ''' the servant" who gave out 
that Shelley was only fifteen years of age. This was Daniel 
Hill, who accompanied the Shelleys to Barnstaple, who was 
arrested and imprisoned there, who turned up at a critical 
moment at Tanyrallt, returned with the Shelleys to Dublin, 
and eventually went with them to London. The letter of 
Shelley corroborates the story told in the North British Review, 
for November, 1847, in an article on the Life a7id Writings of 
Shelley. The paper was written by my lamented friend the 
late Dr. Anster, the translator of Faust. He says : — '* Shel- 
ley's pamphlet is before us. Medwin it seems searched in 
vain for a copy. Ours was obtained through an Irish friend of 
Shelley's, whose acquaintance with the poet originated acci- 
dentally. A poor man offered the pamphlet for a few p.ence — 
its price stated on the title-page was fivepence. On being 
asked how he got it, he said a parcel of them were given him 
by a young gentleman, who told him to get what he could for 
them — at all events to distribute them. Inquiry was made at 



136 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, 

Shelley's lodgings to ascertain the truth of the vendor's stor}^ 
He was not at home ; but when he heard of it he went to re- 
turn the visit, and kindly acquaintanceship thus arose. The 
Shelleys — husband and wife — were then Pythagoreans. Shelley 
spoke as a man believing in the metempsychosis — and they 
did not eat animal food. They seem however to have tolerated 
it ; for on one occasion a fowl was murdered for our friend's 
dinner. Of the first Mrs. Shelley the recollection of our friend 
is faint, but it is of an amiable and unaffected person ; very 
young and very pleasing, and she and Shelley seem much 
attached." 

The balcony in front of 7, Lower Sackville Street, from 
which Shelley and Harriet threw the pamphlets to whoever 
looked '' likely," still remains. It runs across the whole width 
of the house, so that Percy and Harriet had each a window 
from which they could bombard the astonished town with 
** books." We have no doubt that he must have enjoyed 
this mode of diffusing useful knowledge immensely — quite as 
much as he did the following year at Ly mouth when he sub- 
stituted for it his oil-skin boats and air-tight bottles. The 
house then belonging to Mr. Dunne, was occupied for many 
years by Messrs. Kohler and Co., and is now in posses- 
sion of Messrs. Stark Brothers, printsellers and artists. As 
long as the balcony remains it will always be an object of 
interest to those who regard with something like affection even 
the ^^ local habitation" of an author whom they love as well as 
admire. 

Shelley in Fishamble Street. 

The next important movement made by Shelley in his 
Dublin crusade took place three days after the publication of 
his Address to the Irish People. That pamphlet had appeared 
on Tuesday, the 25th of February, 181 2, and on the Friday 
following, the 28th of the same month, the long announced 
Aggregate ^Meeting of the Catholics of Ireland took place in 
the historic little theatre in Fishamble Street. Shelley attended 



SHELLEY IN FISHAMBLE STREET, 137 

that meeting, and spoke to an important resolution for the space 
of an hour. 

The morning of Friday the 28th of February, 18 12, must 
have been an exciting one for the three propagandists of phil- 
anthropy — Shelley, Harriet, and Eliza Westbrook, as they 
met together in the drawing-room of No. 7, Lower Sackville 
Street, Dublin. The youthful Shelley was on that day to pre- 
sent himself before an immense assembly, and to put to the 
test his power of addressing or influencing an audience. The 
ladies we may be sure had determined to accompany him to 
the meeting, and with all her confidence in the ability of Percy, 
we can have little doubt that the gentle Harriet was full of 
anxiety as to his success. 

The vigilance exercised by the Irish Government in ascer- 
taining through their secret agents the arrangements of the 
Catholics for the intended meeting of February 28th, 1812, did 
not relax when the meeting took place. Two persons were 
sent to Fishamble Street Theatre to furnish special reports ot 
the proceedings. Both reporters were connected with the 
police — one a chief constable, Mr. Michael Farrell, well known 
in the local history of the period ; the other a Mr. Manning, 
who held an inferior position. These reports are preserved 
among the State Papers in the Record Office. Unfortunately 
they give us little or no information on the subject of Shelley. 
In one he is not mentioned at all ; in the other he is barely 
alluded to. Of the two reports, that signed Thos. K. Manning 
is the longest. In this Shelley's name does not appear. Another 
young man, afterwards very distinguished, the late Sir Thomas 
Wyse, the English Ambassador in Greece, made his first ap- 
pearance in public at the same meeting. He proposed the 
resolution to which Shelley spoke, and is thus described by 
Mr. Manning : — 

^' On this resolution, Mr. Wise, a young boy, delivered a 
speech of considerable length and replete with much elegant 
language ; the principal matter it contained of notice was, that 
he lamented that the Regent should abandon Mr. Fox's prin- 



138 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 

ciples and join in a shameful coalition, or that he had been 
so far womanized — here he was interrupted by a question oi 
order." 

In 1 812, Mr. Wyse was twenty-one years of age, having been 
born in 1791 ; the description '* a young boy" could therefore 
be scarcely applicable to him. Shelley was nineteen years and 
six months old, but looked so young that his servant could give 
out with some appearance of truth that he was but fifteen. 
The full report of the elaborate speech of Mr. Wyse is now 
before us, and it contains no language in the slightest degree 
disrespectful to the Prince Regent, neither was the speaker 
called to order. In fact, the business of the meeting was to 
adopt an address to his Royal Highness, and the observations 
alluded to by the reporter could scarcely have been used by 
any one who had been selected by the managers to take an 
important part in its proceedings. Shelley's speech was volun- 
teered. His strong feeling towards the Prince at this time we 
know from his own letters, and he may easily have strayed 
into the expression of them. In one of his letters, hitherto 
unpublished, an extract from which will presently be given, he 
tells us that some of his observations met with interruption. 
On the whole we think that Mr. Manning, in copying his notes, 
transferred the description from Shelley to Mr. Wyse. 

The second reporter, Mr. Farrell, the peace officer, mentions 
Shelley but very slightly. He says : — 

'' Lord Glentworth said a few words — a Mr. Bennett spoke, 
also Mr. Shelley, who stated himself to be a native of England." 

With these manuscript reports the Lord Lieutenant forwarded 
to the Home Secretary a copy of The Dublin Evening Post of 
Saturday, the 29th February, 18 12, containing a full report of 
the proceedings at the meeting which took place the day before. 
It is from this paper that the only version of Shelley's speech 
hitherto published has been taken. It was originally extracted 
by the present writer, from whose transcript it was copied into 
Mr. Middleton's Shelley and his Writings (vol. i. p. 212). 



SHELLEY' IN FIS LI AMBLE STREET. 



139 



There are two other versions of the speech which have not 
previously been known. One of these is indeed very short, 
but as it expressly mentions the kind manner in which the 
youthful speaker was received by the meeting, it is very valu- 
able as part of the refutation of the calumnious statement 
made years after by Mr. Hogg, which has been so improperly 
repeated by others who reject Mr. Hogg's testimony when 
they dislike it, and adopt it when it is in accordance with their 
own prejudices. This brief report appeared on the morning 
after the meeting in The FreemarCs Journal^ of Saturday, 
Feb. 29th, 1812. It was repeated in The Hibernian Journal, 
or Daily Chronicle of Liberty, Dublin, Monday, March 2d, 
1812. And again in a more accessible shape in Walker'' s Hi- 
bernian Magazine for February, 181 2, p. 83. As it was the 
earliest report, it may be here given first : — 

Shellefs Speech at Fishainble Street Theatre, Dublin, 
Feb. iZth, 18 12. 

From The Freeman^ s Journal^ Dublin, Feb. 29th, 1812. 

'^ On the fifth [it should have been the sixtK\ resolution being 
proposed, Mr. Shelley, an English gentleman (very young), 
the son of a Member of Parliament, rose to address the meet- 
ing. He was received with great kindness, and declared that 
the greatest misery this country endured was the Union Law, 
the Penal Code, and the state of the representation. He drew 
a lively picture of the misery of the country, which he attrib- 
uted to the unfortunate Act of Legislative Union." 

On the evening of the same day, in the Dublin Evening Post 
of Saturday, the 29th of February, 181 2, a fuller report of the 
speech is given. The italics are in the original. 

Shellefs Speech. 

From The Dublin Evening Post, Saturday, 29th Feb., 18 12. 

^^ Mr. Shelley requested a hearing. He was an Englishman, 
and when he reflected on the crimes committed by his nation on 
Ireland, he could not but blush for his countrymen, did he not 



I40 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 

know that arbitrary power never failed to corrupt the heart of 
man. (Loud applause for several minutes.) 

'' He had come to Ireland for the sole purpose of interesting 
himself in her misfortunes. He was deeply impressed with a 
sense of the evils which Ireland endured, and he considered 
them to be truly ascribed to the fatal effects of the legislative 
union with Great Britain. 

'' He walked through the streets, and he saw the fane of 
Liberty converted into a temple of Mammon. (Loud applause.) 
He beheld beggary and famine in the country, and he could 
lay his hand on his heart and say that the cause of such sights 
was the union with Great Britain. (Hear, hear.) He was re- 
solved to do his utmost to promote a Repeal of the Union. 
Catholic Emancipation would do a great deal towards the 
amelioration of the condition of the people, but he was con- 
vinced that the Repeal of the Union was of more importance. 
He considered that the victims whose members were vibrating 
on gibbets were driven to the commission of the crimes which 
they expiated by their lives by the effects of the Union." 

The third and longest report of Shelley's speech is as follows. 
It is taken from The Patriot^ Dublin, 2d March, 18 12 : — 

^^ Mr. Shelley then addressed the Chair. He hoped he 
should not be accounted a transgressor on the time of the 
meeting. He felt inadequate to the task he had undertaken, 
but he hoped the feelings which urged him forward would 
plead his pardon. He was an Englishman ; when he reflected 
on the outrages that his countrymen had committed here for 
the last twenty years he confessed that he blushed for them. 
He had come to Ireland for the sole purpose of interesting 
himself in the misfortunes of this country, and impressed with 
a full conviction of the necessity of Catholic Emancipation, 
and of the baneful effects which the union with Great Britain 
had entailed upon Ireland. He had walked through the fields 
of the country and the streets of the city, and he had in both 
seen the miserable effects of that fatal step. He had seen that 
edifice which ought to have been the fane of their liberties 



SHELLEY LN FISHAMBLE STREET, 141 

converted to a temple of Mammon. Many of the crimes 
which are daily committed he could not avoid attributing to 
the effect of that measure, which had thrown numbers of peo- 
ple out of the employment they had in manufacture, and in- 
duced them to commit acts of the greatest desperation for the 
support of their existence. 

'* He could not imagine that the religious opinion of a man 
should exclude him from the rights of society. The original 
founder of our religion taught no such doctrine. Equality in 
this respect was general in the American States, and why not 
here ? Did a change of place change the nature of man ? He 
would beg those in power to recollect the French Revolution : 
the suddenness, the violence with which it burst forth, and the 
causes which gave rise to it. 

^' Both the measures of Emancipation and a Repeal of the 
Union should meet his decided support, but he hoped many 
years would not pass over his head when he would make him- 
self conspicuous at least by his zeal for them." 

In these versions of the speech, which are the only ones I 
have been able to find in the Irish papers of the period, or 
rather in those of them that are still extant, there is no sug- 
gestion that Shelley met with the slightest discourtesy from 
those he addressed. Indeed, it would be strange if he had. 
His youth, his enthusiasm, his eloquence, as we will find, 
delighted the assembly by which, as we are told in The Free- 
man'' s Journal, ^'he was received with great kindness." Some 
slight interruption he did meet with at the beginning, but that 
was, as he tells us himself in the unpublished letter we have re- 
ferred to. when he spoke of '^ religion." In this letter, which is 
dated ^* 17, Grafton Street, Dublin, March 14th, 18 12," he 
says : — 

** My speech was misinterpreted. I spoke for more than an 
hour. The hisses with which they greeted me when I spoke of 
religion, though in terms of respect, were mixed with applause 
when I avowed my mission. The newspapers have only noted 
that which did not excite disapprobation." 



142 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, 

Shelley as an Orator. 

The following important letter, now for the first time given 
in connection with the life of Shelley, settles the interesting 
question, which has often been raised, of Shelley's probable 
success as an orator had he devoted himself to the cultivation 
of eloquence instead of poetry. 

Medwin, Trelawny, and Captain Williams the partner of his 
fate, speak highly of the elevation of Shelley's ordinary con- 
versation, which rose occasionally into an unstudied eloquence. 
But they never heard him address a public assembly. The 
only one hitherto recorded — except the anonymous writers 
subsequently to be mentioned — who had this opportunity, and 
made some allusion to it, was the late Chief Baron Woulfe. 
His description leaves the impression that Shelley was a cold, 
methodical, and ineffective speaker. Chief Baron Woulfe was 
in bad health when he is reported to have mentioned his recol- 
lection of Shelley's manner. Many years had elapsed, and 
Shelley could have scarcely been recalled to his memory except 
by an effort. Of far different value is the testimony wrung 
most reluctantly at the moment from an unwilling witness. 
That testimony is contained in the following letter, which was 
published in the Government organ of the day. The Dublin 
Journal^ a paper originally started by George Faulkner, the 
publisher of Swift : — 

Shelley as an orator, described by '^ An Ejiglishman'''* in 1812. 

*' Saturday, March 7th, 1812. 
*' To the Editor of The Dublin Journal. 

'^ Sir, — Our public meetings now-a-days, instead of exhibit- 
ing the deliberations of men of acknowledged wisdom and ex- 
perience, resemble mere debating societies, where unfledged 
candidates for national distinction rant out a few trite and 
commonplace observation^ with as much exultation and self- 
applause as if they possessed the talents or eloquence of a 
Saurin or a Burke. This remark is particularly applicable to 
almost the whole of the meetings which have been assembled 



SHELLEY IN FISH AMBLE STREET. 143 

within the last twelve months by the Catholics ; at which young 
gentlemen of this description have constantly intruded them- 
selves upon the public notice, and by the unseasonable and in- 
judicious violence of their language, have not a little prejudiced 
the cause they attempted to support. Curiosity and the ex- 
pected gratification of hearing a display of oratory by some of 
the leading members of the Catholic body led me on Friday, 
for the first time, to the Aggregate Meeting in Fishamble Street. 
Being rather late I missed the orations of Mr. Connell [sic] and 
the leading orators, and only heard a dry monotonous effusion 

from Counsellor , and, to me, a most disgusting harangue 

from a stripling, with whom I am unacquainted, but who, I am 
sorry to say, styles himself my countryman — an Englishman. 
This young gentleman, after stating that he had been only a 
fortnight in Ireland, expatiated on the miseries which this 
country endured in consequence of its connection with his own, 
and asserted (from the knowledge, I presume, which his pecu- 
liar sagacity enabled him to acquire in so short a period) that 
its cities were depopulated, its fields laid waste, and its inhabi- 
tants degraded and enslaved ; and all this by its union with 
England. If it revolted against my principles, Mr. Editor, to 
hear such language from one of my own countrymen, you will 
readily conceive that my disgust was infinitely heightened to 
observe with what transport the invectives of this renegade 
Englishman against his native country were hailed by the as- 
sembly he addressed. Joy beamed in every countenance and 
rapture glistened in every eye at the aggravated detail : the 
delirium of ecstasy got the better of prudential control ; the 
veil was for a moment withdrawn. I thought I saw \.h.Q purpose, 
in spite oi t]\Q prete7ice, written in legible characters in each of 
their faces, and though emancipation alone flowed from the 
tongue, separation and ascendancy were rooted in the heart. 

'^ As for the young gentleman alluded to, I congratulate the 
Catholics of Ireland on the acquisition oi so patriotic and e7i' 
lighte7ied an advocate ; and England, I dare say, will spare him 
without regret. I must, however, remark that as the love of 
his country is one of the strongest principles implanted in the 



144 



PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, 



breast of man by his Maker, and as the affections are more 
ardent in youth than in maturer years, that this young gentle- 
man should at so early an age have overcome the strongest im- 
pulses of nature, seems to me a complete refutation of the 
hitherto supposed infallible maxim that Nemo fuit repente 
turpissimus, 

^^An Englishman." 

The same day, the 7th of March, 18 12, on which The Dublin 
Journal published this sarcastic allusion to the speech of ^* a 
stripling " it does not condescend to name, is memorable in the 
life of Shelley as that on which he is first spoken of openly in 
terms of enthusiastic admiration and praise. It appeared in 
The Weekly Messenger^ another Dublin journal, but differing 
very widely in politics from that which contains the letter of 
^^ An Englishman." Shelley seems to have been rather proud 
of the notice, as he sent it at once to Godwin. Writing to the 
philosopher on the following day, he says, " You will see the 
account of ME in the newspapers. I am vain, but not so fool- 
ish as not to be rather piqued than gratified at the eulogia of a 
journal." 

The following is this very interesting article, the first public 
notice of Shelley. It is printed exactly as in the original : — 

From The Weekly Messenger, Dublin, Saturday, March 7th, 18 12. 

^' Pierce By she Shelly Esq. 

^* The highly interesting appearance of this young gentleman 
at the late Aggregate Meeting of the Catholics of Ireland, has 
naturally excited a spirit of enquiry, as to his objects and views, 
in coming forward at such a meeting; and the publications 
which he has circulated with such uncommon industry, through 
the Metropolis, has set curiosity on the wing to ascertain who 
he is, from whence he comes, and what his pretensions are to 
the confidence he solicits, and the character he assumes. To 
those who have read the productions we have alluded to, we 
need bring forward no evidence of the cultivation of his mind 



SHELLEY IN FISHAMBLE STREET. 145 

^-the benignity of his principles — or the peculiar fascination 
with which he seems able to recommend them. 

^' Of this gentleman's family we can say but little, but we 
can set down what we have heard from respectable authority. 
That his father is a member of the Imperial Parliament, and 
that this young gentleman, whom we have seen, is the immedi- 
ate heir of one of \h^ first fortunes in England. Of his princi- 
ples and his manners we can say more, because we can collect 
from conversation, as well as from reading, that he seems de- 
voted to the propagation of those divine and Christian feelings 
which purify the human heart, give shelter to the poor, and 
consolation to the unfortunate. That he is the bold and in- 
trepid advocate of those principles which are calculated to give 
energy to truth, and to depose from their guilty eminence the 
bad and vicious passions of a corrupt community ; — that a uni- 
versality of charity is his object, and a perfectibility of human 
society his end, which cannot be attained by the conflicting 
dogmas of religious sects, each priding itself on the extinction 
of the other ^ and <^// existing by the mutual misfortunes which 
flow from polemical warfare. The principles of this young 
gentleman embrace all sects and all persuasions. His doctrines, 
political and religious^ may be accommodated to all j every 
friend to true Christianity will be his religious friend, and every 
enemy to the liberties of Ireland will be his political enemy. 
The weapons he wields are those of reason, and the most social 
benevolence. He deprecates violence in the accomplishment of 
his views, and relies upon the mild and merciful spirit of toler- 
ation for the completion of all his designs, and the consumma- 
tion'of all his wishes. To the religious bigot such a missionary 
of truth is a formidable opponent, by the political monopolist 
he will be considered the child of Chimera, the creature of 
fancy, an imaginary legislator who presumes to make laws 
without reflecting upon his materials, and despises those con- 
siderations which have baffled the hopes of the most philan- 
thropic and the efforts of the most wise. It is true, human 
nature may be too depraved for such a hand as Mr. Shelly's 
to form to anything that is good, or liberal, or beneficent. Let 



146 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, 

him but take down one of the rotten pillars by which society is 
now propped, and substitute the purity of his own principles, 
and Mr. Shelly shall have done a great and lasting service to 
human nature. To this gentleman Ireland is much indebted, 
for selecting her as the theatre of his first attempts in this holy 
work of human regeneration ; the Catholics of Ireland should 
listen to him with respect, because they will find that an en- 
lightened Englishman has interposed between the treason of 
their own countrymen and the almost conquered spirit of their 
country ; that Mr. Shelly has come to Ireland to demonstrate 
in his person that there are hearts in his own country not ren- 
dered callous by six hundred years of injustice ; and that the 
genius of freedom, which has communicated comfort and con- 
tent to the cottage of the Englishman, has found its way to the 
humble roof of the Irish peasant, and promises by its presence 
to dissipate the sorrows of past ages, to obliterate the remem- 
brance of persecution, and close the long and wearisome scene 
of centuries of human depression. We extract from Mr. 
Shelly's last production, which he calls '' PROPOSALS FOR AN 
Association, &c." 

The Shellevs in London. 

I had returned from the country at the end of October, 1812, 
and had resumed the duties of a pleader ; I was sitting in my 
quiet lodgings with my tea and a book before me : it was one 
evening at the beginning of November, probably about ten 
o'clock. I was roused by a violent knocking at the street door, 
as if the watchman was giving the alarm of fire ; some one ran 
furiously up-stairs, the door flew open, and Bysshe rushed into 
the middle of the room. I had not seen him for a year ; not 
since they left me at York. I had not heard from him, nor 
indeed any tidings of him, for many months ; not once after 
his departure from Keswick. I made several fruitless attempts 
to find out what had become of him soon after I came to reside 
in London the last spring. 

The civil and obliging Mr Graham had unfortunately quitted 
his lodgirgs and the people could not tell me where he was ; 



THE SHELLEYS IN LONDON. 



147 



he coulcT have given me at once the information, which I so 
ardently desired. I called in Lincoln's Inn Fields, and I saw 
the elder of the cousins, the younger and more communicative 
one had gone to Edinburgh to study medicine. I had a very 
cold reception ; of Bysshe he either kaew, or chose to know, 
nothing. 

It was evident there was a screw loose ; he gave me no en- 
couragement to call again, nothing, it was plain, was to be made 
of him, and I have never seen him since. 

From this untoward sample it was conspicuously of no use to 
address myself to any other members of his family, or to their 
agents ; the poor Poet was a prohibited book, closely sealed up 
and put away to be out of sight, and indeed out of mind. 
There was nothing to be done but to drav/ pleas, to keep terms, 
and to bide my time. 

The time had now come suddenly and unexpectedly. Bysshe 
looked, as he always looked, wild, intellectual, unearthly ; like 
a spirit that had just descended from the sky; like a demon 
risen at that moment out of the ground. 

How had he found me out ? I could never have discovered 
his hiding-place ; in truth I had often tried in vain. He knew 
of my intention to become a law-student ; he had been at the 
Treasury in Lincoln's Inn; they s'ent him to the Temple. I 
had dined that day in the Hall of the Middle Temple, and 
from thence they dispatched him to my special pleader, and 
he, with considerable hesitation, gave him my address. 

The next morning this gentleman said to me, not without a 
certain trepidation : 

*' You had just left chambers last night, when a very wild- 
looking man came here, and asked for you — he must see you 
instantly. He was in a great hurry ; he must see you. He re- 
quired your address ; I doubted whether I ought to give it him, 
for he would not tell me his name. Leave your own name and 
a written direction ; Mr. Hogg will be here in the morning, he 
will see it, and if he pleases, he can call upon you ; but he 
would not agree to this : he must see you immediately. My 
clerk thought, that in a frequented part of London there 



148 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 

could not be much danger, so I permitted him, though rather 
unwillingly, to write down your lodgings, and at last I gave 
it him. Did you see him ? I hope he did not do you any 
harm." 

Bysshe did not approve of the caution of the prudent pleader ; 
next day, when I told him of his suspicions, he exclaimed, 
'' Like all lawyers, he is a narrow-minded fool ! How can you 
bear the society of such a wretch ? The old fellow looked at 
me, as if he thought I was going to cut his throat ; the clerk 
was rather better, but he is an ass ! " He had ten thousand 
things to tell me, and as he told me a thousand at least of them 
at a time without order, and with his natural vehemence and 
volubility, I got only a very indistinct notion of his history 
during the preceding year ; I picked up a few facts afterwards, 
many more ver)' recently, but even at this moment I can trace 
only an imperfect narrative of this portion of his life. I learned 
that he had been in Ireland, in Wales, and in other places ; 
that was nearly all which I could then make out. He eagerly 
asked me innumerable questions, but he seldom heard, or 
waited for, my answers. He was soon coming to reside in 
London — to stay there ^' for ever;" so we should never be 
separated again. He stayed late, and w^ould have remained 
conversing with me all night, but I took him by the arm, and 
led him down stairs and into the street, that the people of the 
house, who began to show their uneasiness, might go to bed ; 
for my landlord was a judge's clerk, and kept good hours. I 
promised at parting to dine with him the next day. I should 
see Harriet, who had much to tell me. 

Accordingly, on the morrow at six o'clock, in some hotel 
very near to St. James's Palace, I found in a sitting-room high 
up in the house Eliza, who smiled faintly upon me in silence, 
and Harriet, who received me cordially and with much shaking 
of hands. " It really seemed as if we were never to meet more ! 
What a separation ! But it will never occur again, for we are 
coming to live in London." 

*^You are looking surprising well, Harriet!" And so she 
was, and in the full bloom of radiant health. 



THE SHELLEYS IN LONDON. 



149 



'^ Oh no, poor dear thing," said Eliza, feebly, ^^her nerves 
are in a fearful state ; most dreadfully shattered." 

I took a seat, and conversed a little while with the bright and 
nervous beauty. Harriet then produced a large sheet of thick 
paper, printed on one side only, and with an engraving at the 
top, much like an Oxford Almanack, and handed it to me with 
a certain unction, as if it were something sacred and full of 
edification. I looked at it in a cursory way. The letterpress 
was a report of the trial of Robert Emmett ; the engraving 
represented a court of justice with the usual accompaniments. 
The principal figure was the unfortunate young man ; he was 
standing at the bar and addressing the bench, vainly endeavor- 
ing to charm two deaf adders. Baron George and Baron Daly, 
and to persuade them to feel commiseration for, if not sympa- 
thy with, high treason. When I had looked at the paper a 
short time, the good Harriet asked me, not without emotion, 
'^ Well, what do you think? Do not you pity him? Poor 
young man!" — ^^Not the least in the world!" '^ What do 
you think of it ? " The paper was filled for the most part with 
the speech of the prisoner. I had read formerly a fuller report 
of Emmett's trial. ^^ I think the sooner all such rascals are 
hanged the better ! " Eliza eyed me with calm contempt, with 
mute languid disgust. 

^' Yes, it is just like you ! " Harriet ejaculated. *^ You are 
so horribly narrow-minded ! So terribly unfeeling ! " 

Presently Bysshe came thundering up stairs from the street, 
like a cannon-ball, and we had dinner. After dinner the Poet 
spoke of Wales with enthusiasm. I was to come and see it. 
He talked rapturously of the waterfalls, walking about the 
room gesticulating as he described them. What effect they 
had upon him when they were actually present before his eyes 
I know not ; the recollection of them absent filled him with 
wonder and ecstasy in St. James's Street. Soon after tea Eliza 
said they must go and pack up ; they were to set out for Wales 
early next morning, and she trembled for poor dear Harriet's 
nerves ! 

A few shabby, ill-printed books, productions of the Irish 



ISO 



PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 



press, were lying about the room ; they treated of the history 
of Ireland, and of the affairs of that country. Bysshe did not 
say a word about Ireland ; on the contrary, when I took up an 
ill-favored volume, and remarked, what a shockingly printed 
book, it is hardly legible ; he gently drew it out of my hands, 
closed it, and laid it aside. He spoke on two subjects only ; 
his project to come and reside in London, when we should be 
always with each other, and should read together every book 
that was ever written by man ; and about the Welsh waterfalls, 
which I was soon to visit in company with him ; and some day 
we must take a look at the falls of Niagara. The lovely Eliza 
in her languishing manner whispered to her sister, that a cer- 
Mrs. Madocks was a most delightful creature ; and she had 
named in the course of the evening, more than once, with faint 
rapture, some Mr. Madocks, as the benefactor of the human 
species. Bysshe also informed me in confidence, that Mr. 
Madocks, of Tremadoc, was the true Prince of Wales, being 
the lineal descendant and heir-at-law of that Prince Madoc, 
who had been immortalized in a never-dying epic by the im- 
mortal Robert Southey. No doubt the worthy squire by gene- 
alogical syllogisms might easily by proved to be Prince of 
Wales, Duke of Cornwall, and Earl of Chester, and Duke of 
York to boot : this would be but a modest and moderate as- 
sumption in a Welsh pedigree. 

Attempted Assassination of Shelley. 

I had promised to visit my young friends in their wilderness 
during the Spring Circuit ; that is to say, at the beginning of 
March. It would have been a great pleasure to have met 
again ; to have spent a few pleasant weeks with them ; to have 
seen the famous embankment, and all the other wonders of 
nature and art, and to have examined in a course of long walks, 
in company with my friend, that part of the Principality, an 
interesting tract of country which I had never set eyes upon. 
This project was rudely and abruptly put an end to by a very 
remarkable incident, if incident it may be called. Although I 
had known Bysshe intimately for three or four years, I could 



A TTEMPTED ASSASSINA TION OF SHELLE Y. 



151 



Still be surprised, and I was not a little surprised by a letter 
which I received one morning from Harriet. 

Dear Sir, Tanyrallt, March 3, 1813. 

I have just escaped an atrocious assassination. O send 
the twenty pounds, if you have it ! You will perhaps hear of 
me no more ! 

Your Friend, 

Percy Shelley. 

Mr. Shelley is so dreadfully nervous to-day, from being up 
all night, that I am afraid what he has written will alarm you 
very much. 

We intend to leave this place as soon as possible, as our 
lives are not safe as long as we remain. It is no common 
robber we dread, but a person who is actuated by revenge, — 
who threatens my life and my sister's as well. 

If you can send us the money, it will greatly add to our 
comfort, 

Sir, I remain, 

Your sincere Friend, 

To Mr. H. T., London. H. SHELLEY. 

Dear Sir Bangor Ferry, March 6, 1813. 

In the first stage of our journey towards Dublin we met 
with your letter ; the remittance rescued us from a situation of 
peculiar perplexity. 

I am now recovered from an illness brought on by watching, 
fatigue, and alarm, and we are proceeding to Dublin to dissi- 
pate the unpleasing impressions associated with the scene of 
our alarm ; we expect to be there on the 8th ; you shall then 
hear the detail of our distresses. 

The ball of the assassin's pistol (he fired at me twice) pene- 
trated my nightgown, and pierced the wainscot. He is yet 
undiscovered, though not unsuspected, as you will learn from 
my next. 

Yours faithfully, 

To Mr. H. T., London. PERCY B. ShELLEY. 



152 



PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, 



35 Cuff Street, Stephen's Green, Dublin, 

My Dear Sir, March 12, 1813. 

We arrived here last Tuesday, after a most tedious passage 
of forty hours, during the whole of which time we were dread- 
fully ill. I'm afraid no diet will prevent us from the common 
lot of suffering when obliged to take a sea voyage . 

Mr. Shelley promised you a recital of the horrible events 
that caused us to leave Wales. I have undertaken the task, 
as I wish to spare him, in the present nervous state of his 
health, everything that can recall to his mind the horrors of 
that night, which I will relate : 

On the night of the 26th February, we retired to bed between 
ten and eleven o'clock. We had been in bed about half-an- 
hour, when Mr. S. heard a noise proceeding from one of the 
parlors. He immediately went down stairs with two pistols 
which he had loaded that night, expecting to have occasion for 
them. He w^ent into the -billiard-room, when he heard foot- 
steps retreating ; he followed into another little room, which 
was called an office. He there saw a man in the act of quitting 
the room through a glass window which opened into the shrub- 
bery ; the man fired at Mr. S., which he avoided. Bysshe 
then tired ; but it flashed in the pan. The man then knocked 
Bysshe down, and they struggled on the ground. Bysshe then 
fired his second pistol, which he thought wounded him in the 
shoulder, as he uttered a shriek and got up, w^ien he said these 
words : '^ By God, I will be revenged. I will murder your wife, 
and will ravish your sister ! By God, I will be revenged ! " 
He then fled, as we hoped, for the night. Our servants were 
not gone to bed, but were just going, when this horrible affair 
happened. This was about eleven o'clock. We all assembled 
in the parlor, where we remained for two hours. Mr. S. then 
advised us to retire, thinking it was impossible he would make 
a second attack. We left Bysshe and our man-servant — who 
had only arrived that day, and w^ho knew nothing of the house 
—to sit up. I had been in bed three hours when I heard a 
pistol go oiT. I immediately ran down stairs, when I perceived 
that Bysshe's flannel gown had been shot through, and the 



ATTEMPTED ASSASSINATION OF SHELLEY, 153 

window curtain. Bysshe had sent Daniel to see what hour it 
was ; when he heard a noise at the window : he went there, 
and a man thrust his arm through the glass, and fired at him. 
Thank Heaven ! the ball went through his gown, and he re- 
mained unhurt. Mr. S. happened to stand sideways ; had he 
stood fronting, the ball must have killed him. Bysshe fired 
his pistol, but it would not go off ; he then aimed a blow at 
him with an old sword, which we found in the house. The 
assassin attempted to get the sword from him, and just as he 
was pulling it away, Dan rushed into the room, when he made 
his escape. This was at four in the morning. It had been a 
most dreadful night ; the wind was as loud as thunder, and the 
rain descended in torrents. Nothing has been heard of him, 
and we have every reason to believe it was no stranger, as 
there is a man of the name of Luson, who, the next morning 
that it happened, went and told the shop-keepers that it was a 
tale of Mr. Shelley's to impose upon them, that he might leave 
the country without paying his bills. This they believed, and 
none of them attempted to do anything towards his discovery. 
We left Tanyrallt on Sunday, and stayed, till everything was 
ready for our leaving the place, at the house of the Solicitor- 
General of the County, who lived seven miles from us. This 
Mr. Luson had been heard to say, that he was determined to 
drive us out of the country. He once happened to get hold of 
a little pamphlet which Mr. S. had printed in Dublin. This 
he sent up to Government ; in fact, he was for ever saying 
something against us, and that because we were determined 
not to admit him to our house, because we had heard his char- 
acter, and from acts of his, we found that he was malignant 
and cruel to the greatest degree. 

We experienced pleasure in reading your letter, at the time 
when every one seemed to be plotting against us ; when those 
who, a few weeks back, had been offering their services, shrunk 
from the task, when called upon in a moment like that. 

Mr. Shelley and my sister unite with me in kind regards ; 
whilst I remain, Yours truly. 

To Mr. H. T., London. H. SHELLEY. 



154 



PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 



Dear Sir, 

Harriet related to you the mysterious events which caused 
our departure from Tanyrallt. I was at that time so nenous 
and unsettled as to be wholly incapable of the task. By your 
kindness, we are relieved from all pecuniary difficulties. We 
only wanted a little breathing time, which the rapidity of our 
persecutions was unwilling to allow. I will readily repay the 
t^venty pounds when I hear from my correspondent in London. 

Yours faithfully, 
To Mr. H. T. PERCY B. SHELLEY. 

Harriet's letter to me was written from Tanyrallt, a day or 
two after the catastrophe ; it bore an earlier date, but in other 
respects it was, to the best of my recollection, precisely similar, 
word for word, indeed, to her letter from Dublin of the I2th 
of March. I have been informed that she also sent to other 
persons a narrative of the nightly fears in the same terms, 
writing descriptive circulars, and dispatching them in different 
directions. Persons acquainted with the localities and with 
the circumstances, and who had carefully investigated the 
matter, were unanimous in the opinion that no such attempt 
was ever made. I never met with any person who believed in 
it. I have heard other histories, alike apocryphal, of attacks 
made by the good people of North Wales upon persons of 
whose sentiments, religious or political, they were supposed to 
disapprove ; but the ale-bibbers and devourers of Welsh-rabbits 
are too wise, or too stolid, to care how much logic any man 
may chop within the Principality, or how fine he may chop it. 
What could the quiet, sheep-tending, mutton-eating, stocking- 
knitting folks in a secluded corner of Carnarvonshire care 
about an unread and unreadable pamphlet on Catholic claim.s 
and the wrongs of Ireland, privately printed in Dublin ? 
Apollo, the shepherd, would not credit that a simple pastoral 
race could murderously assault, and basely assassinate, a 
brother shepherd. How could the countrymen of Talliessin 
and the other immortal bards persecute and expel from their 
land of poesy and song the special favorite and pet of the 



"AS LADIES WISH TO BE:' 



155 



Aonian maids ? Neither Bysshe nor Harriet ever spoke to me 
of the assassination ; and the lovely Eliza observed on this 
subject, as on all others, her wonted silence.* 

^^As Ladies wish to be." 

He had taken, or sent, a considerable number of books to 
the happy cottage on the blissful lake ; many useful volumes 
collected in the solitude of Tanyrallt, and for which he had so 
earnestly written to his correspondent in London. When he 
started off hastily to overtake me in Dublin, or to join me in 
London, he had left Eliza in charge of his library. He was 
evidently weary of angelic guardianship, and exulted with a 
malicious pleasure that he had fairly planted her at last. He 
made no secret of his satisfaction, but often gave vent to his 
feelings with his accustomed frankness and energy. The good 
Harriet smiled in silence, and looked very sly ; she did not 
dare to express her joy, if she really rejoiced at the absence 
of her affectionate and tiresome sister, by uttering treasons 
against her liege lady, the defender of her nerves. The de- 

* " I was in North Wales in the summer of 18 13, and heard the matter much talked 
of. Persons who had examined the premises on the following morning, had found 
that the grass on the lawn had been much trampled and rolled on, but there were no 
footmarks on the wet ground, except between the beaten spot and the window ; and 
the impression of the ball on the wainscot showed that the pistol had been fired to- 
wards the window, and not from it. This appeared conclusive as to the whole series 
of operations having taken place from within." — Peacock. 

" No trace could ever be found of the assassin. The Shelleyan theory was that a 
certain Mr. Leeson. a man whom they avoided as * malignant and cruel to the greatest 
degree,' was at the bottom of the affair. The Leesonian and irreverent theory was at 
least as tenable /r2'w<zy^zi:/>, viz., ' that it was a tale of Mr. Shelley's to impose upon 
the neighboring shopkeepers, that he might leave the country without paying his bills.' 
People in general, along with Messrs. Hogg, Madocks and Peacock, and Mr. Browning 
among later analysts, have disbelieved the story, and attributed it to an excited imagi- 
nation, or nerves unstrung by laudanum ; Hogg suggests that the Irishman Daniel may 
possibly have had something to do with it. The night was one of rain and 'wind as 
loud as thunder,' which may have started in Shelley's perturbed brain the notion of 
pistol-snappings ; it is a fact, however, that some pistol was really fired. One singular 
point (hardly fitted to dwell on) is that Shelley expected^ on going to bed, to need his 
fire-arms ; if the expectation was a mere fantasy, the subsequent actual need of them 
may have been the same. But I.ady Shelley and Mr. Thornton Hunt discover no 
ground for scepticism. Miss Westbrook was also in the house at the time, and often, 
in after years, related the circumstance as a frightful fact." — Rossetti. 



156 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, 

liverance was of brief duration, — surprisingly brief, for in an 
incredibly short space of time Eliza reappeared and resumed 
her sovereign functions. They remained for some time at 
hotels, and during this period Eliza was with them, mute, 
smiling, and languishing as before. Whether she lived con- 
stantly with them I was not exactly informed ; it seemed rather 
that she went and came in a hushed, mystical manner. How- 
ever, she was often present when I visited them, but retired 
frequently to her bed-room, probably to brush her hair assidu- 
ously as of old. Whenever she joined us, she displayed the 
same painful interest in Harriet's nerves ; their condition was 
authoritatively pronounced to be shattered and deplorable ; 
and when she deigned to wonder at anything, she wondered 
what Miss Warne would say. On somie days she was unques- 
tionably absent ; and then, perhaps, she had gone to hold a 
chaste conference with her virgin friend respecting the nervous 
system, and actually to hear what the oracle said. 

Harriet gave visible promise of being about to provide an 
heir for an ancient and illustrious house ; and, like all little 
women, she looked very large upon the occasion. She was in 
excellent voice, and fonder than ever of reading aloud ; she 
promptly seized every opportunity of indulging her taste ; she 
took up the first book that came to hand as soon as I entered 
the room, and the reading commenced. Sir William Drum- 
mond's Academical Questions, Smith's Theory of Moral Sen- 
timents, some of Bishop Berkeley's Works, Southey's Chronicle 
of the Cid, had taken the place of Telemachus, Belisarius, 
Volney's Ruins, and the other works which she had formerly 
read to me. Whenever Eliza made a descent upon us, silence 
was immediately proclaimed, and the book was carried away. 

'' Dearest Harriet, what are you about? Only consider the 
state of your poor nerves ! Think of your condition ! You 
are killing yourself as fast as you can ; you are, indeed, dear I 
Gracious heaven ! " What would Miss Warne say ? " 

I dined with my young friends one day at a hotel in Dover 
Street. Bysshe was to go somewhere with all haste — a common 
occurrence with him, — to perform, or to procure, something 



''AS LADIES WISH TO BE:' 157 

mysterious and prodigious. He could hardly be prevailed 
upon to take his dinner ; he restrained his impatience until 
our meal was finished, and whilst the waiter was removing the 
cloth, he sprang on his feet, snatched up his hat and ran away, 
leaving me alone with Harriet. We sat and conversed for 
awhile ; she probably was wishing for the moment, when with 
a decent and proper regard for the paramount duty of digestion, 
she might begin to read aloud. 

Before the desired moment came, Dr. S. was announced, 
and a quiet Quaker physician quickly entered the room, his 
hat upon his head, and a bland smile upon his countenance. I 
rose instantly to depart, but the doctor seized my arm, and 
made me sit down again. I felt uneasy, but believing that he 
took me for the husband of the lady whom he attended, I was 
about to inform him that I was not, when Harriet interposed : 

*' You need not go away! Dr. S. does not desire it, lam 
sure. He rather wishes you to stay ! " 

My position seemed delicate and distressing, but it was not 
so. The doctor seated himself over against his blooming 
young patient, and rather near to her, looking at her fixedly ; 
the bland smile was still upon his countenance, and the ample 
hat was still upon his head. Nothing was said, either by the 
lady or by her dumb physician. 

Twice, or thrice, the latter murmured softly and inarticu- 
lately. 

The mute consultation continued about ten minutes, and 
terminated abruptly. When he had satiated his eyes, and 
satisfied the demands of science by gazing silently. Dr. S. 
started suddenly from his chair, as if something had stung him 
behind, and with a celerity hardly natural in a Quaker, quitted 
the room, carefully closing the door after him. Harriet ap- 
peared to be relieved at being delivered from his silent, search- 
ing eye. 

'*Well! You see there was no necessity for your going 
away ; not the least in the world. You might very well stay ! 
It was Bysshe's wish that Dr. S. should see me, and he has 
seen me ! '* 



158 



PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 



Shelley continued to reside for some weeks at hotels ; some 
persons blamed such a course as imprudent, and moreover as 
being expensive, but his motives were discreet and rational. 
Next August he would be of age. It was confidently asserted, 
and generally believed, that his father would then come to a 
satisfactory and proper arrangement. It was thought that a 
hotel was more convenient for negotiations than lodgings. 
His father, it was said, would pay his debts, of which the 
amount was inconsiderable, and make him a moderate, perma- 
nent, and suitable allowance. 

For some two years I had seen but little of Bysshe, but from 
this epoch it was my good fortune to see a great deal of him, 
and to enjoy, off and on, much of the unappreciable pleasure 
and advantage of his most precious society and familiar and 
friendly intercourse. Having consumed many valuable hours 
in the dull diplomacy of his father's agents, and finding the 
residence at a hotel, a place where the Muses do not haunt, 
unfavorable to study, and to assembling a goodly fellowship of 
ancient books round him, he took lodgings in Half- Moon-Street. 
I went one day, by invitation, to dine with him there, and on 
arriving I found Harriet alone. 

*^ Bysshe called on the Duke of Norfolk this morning, who 
asked him to dinner, and it would have been improper to have 
refused. He has just gone, but he will come to us as soon as 
he can get away." 

Harriet and myself dined together, and had tea ; and after 
tea Harriet was reading aloud to me, as she was wont to do. 
Her reading was abruptly put an end to by vehement and well- 
known rapping ; Shelley came tumbling upstairs, with a 
mighty sound, treading upon his nose, as I accused him of 
doing, rushed into the room, and throwing off his neckcloth, 
according to custom, stood staring around for some moments, 
as wondering why he had been in such a hurry. He informed 
us that there was a large party of men at Norfolk House ; he 
sat near the bottom of the table, and the Earl of Oxford sat 
next to him. After dinner, the Earl said to him, — 

' ' Pray, who is that very strange old man at the top of the 



THE WOULD-BE SUICIDE, 1 59 

table, sitting next to His Grace, who talks so much, so loudly, 
and in so extraordinary a manner, and all about himself ? 

*' He is my father, and he is a very strange old man indeed ! 
The Earl said no more on that head, but we continued to chat 
together, and he walked with me from St. James's-Square. I 
have just left him at the door." 

Feelings of sympathy and antipathy are various and manifest. 
Bysshe appeared to be pleased with the Earl of Oxford, 
because he disliked his father. I did not know the Earl, but I 
t*^as so fortunate as to meet his lovely and fashionable Countess 
occasionally, and I was soon able to discover that we had one 
point of sympathy and strong common feeling, — an intense 
abhorrence of bores. 

The Would-be Suicide. 

In London, Bysshe found books and society, and he appeared 
to rejoice in being delivered from the long-endured, intolerable 
loneliness of Wales : the good Harriet also rejoiced, and was 
bright, blooming, calm, and composed, as heretofore ; but she 
had not renounced her eternal purpose of suicide ; and she 
still discoursed of some scheme of self-destruction, as coolly 
as another lady would arrange a visit to an exhibition or a 
theatre. She told me sometimes that she was very unhappy, 
but she never said why ; and in particular, she told me fre- 
quently, as she had told me formerly, that she had been very 
unhappy at school, and often intended to kill herself. I asked 
her again and again the cause of her unhappiness, but she did 
not know it. It certainly appeared to be mere talk, and I 
found a festivity in it ; it became jolly, as it were, to laugh at 
her suicidal schemes, and the solemnity with which she un- 
folded them : with this she was now and then a little offended. 
''" Mamma is going to have some walnuts pickled next week," 
a little girl once said to me, a little boy ; and she added, with 
a grave look and an air of quiet resolution, ^' and mamma says 
she is quite determined ! " So poor Harriet was quite deter- 
mined, and did not choose to be laughed out of it, being dis- 
pleased with my apologue of the walnuts. 



l6o PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, 

In this strange world one comes across strange people some 
times, and finds strange kinds of industry, especially when a 
man lays himself out for strange characters. Dining one day 
at a hotel in London with Bysshe and Harriet, I met a poor 
poet there, whose acquaintance they had just made,7— how, I 
know not ; I think, through some advertisement in a news- 
paper. Shelley introduced me to him, and grimly whispered, 
that he was going to kill himself. '"' Very well ! " " Imme- 
diately ! " he added. '^ With all my heart ! " The professor 
of suicide, it must be admitted, had rather a melancholy look. 
He was pale, cadaverous, and he discoursed during dinner in a 
grave, pedantic manner, of his inflexible resolution to commit 
suicide, as it seemed, instantly ; and he talked much, and 
with due solemnity, of Otho, — of the Otho of Tacitus, — until 
dinner was over. Otho, he said, was his favorite — his hero ! 
However, Otho ate his salmon and lobster sauce, and whatever 
else was put before him, largely and voraciously, and with a 
prodigious relish ; took his wine very freely, and then a long 
nap ; and finally departed without having become a felon of 
himself. When he had taken his leave, Harriet told me with 
great glee, — '^ The gentleman is going to kill himself." 
''Really!" ''Directly; is not that quite delightful?" 
^' Quite ! " "I should not wonder if he is doing it now ! " I 
did not wish to put her out of conceit with this notion, but I 
should have wondered much if he had been doing anything of 
the kind. I saw him twice or thrice, there and thereabouts ; 
his talk was ever in the same self-murderous vein ; so confi- 
dently did he speak, so urgent was the necessity, that on 
leaving the room for five minutes one might expect to return 
and find him in a pool of blood ; but no, the calamity never 
happened ; it was plain that swicide was only his stock-in- 
trade. All people laughed at him, except Harriet, whose 
sympathies were excited at first ; but after a short time, even 
she got tired of him ; or possibly she was jealous of Otho's 
superior confidence of assertion touching impending self-de- 
struction. What ultimately became of the fellow I know not ; 
I never heard that he cut his throat ; perhaps he hit upon some 



NAKEDIZING. l6l 

other mode of getting a dinner, when this dodge was seen 
through. 

NAKEDIZING. 

He spoke with enthusiasm of a charming family, whose ac- 
quaintance he had lately made, in what manner I do not re- 
member,- and he promised to introduce me to them, declaring 
that I should be as much taken with them as he was himself. 
He informed me soon afterwards that he had spoken of me to 
them, that they desired to see me, and the next day he would 
take me to dine with them. The next day — it was a Sunday, 
in the summer — we took a walk together, wandering about, as 
usual, for a long time without plan or purpose. About five 
o'clock Bysshe stopt suddenly at the door of a house in a 
fashionable street, ascended the steps hastily, and delivered 
one of his superb bravura knocks. 

*' What are we going to do here ? " 

*' It is here we dine." 

He placed me before him, that I might enter first, as the 
stranger ; the door was thrown wide open, and a strange 
spectacle presented itself. There were five naked figures in 
the passage advancing rapidly to meet us. The first was a boy 
of twelve years, the last a little girl of five ; the other three 
children, the two eldest of them being girls, were of inter- 
mediate ages, between the two extremes. As soon as they 
saw me, they uttered a piercing cry, turned round, and ran 
wildly upstairs, sereaming aloud. The stairs presented the 
appearance of Jacob's Ladder, with the angels ascending it, 
except that they had no wings, and they moved faster, and 
made more noise than the ordinary representations of the 
Patriarch's vision indicate. From the window of the nursery 
at the top of the house the children had seen the beloved 
Shelley, — had scampered down stairs in single file to welcome 
him ; me, the killjoy, they had not observed. 

I was presented to a truly elegant family, and I found every- 
thing in the best taste, and was highly gratified with my recep- 
tion, and with the estimable acquisition to the number of my 



1 62 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 

friends. Nothing was said about the first strange salutation, 
nor did I venture to inquire, what it signified. After dinner, 
Bysshe asked, why the children did not come into the room to 
the dessert, as usual. The lady of the house colored slightly, 
and said Shelley should see them bye and-bye, in the nursery, 
but they did not dare to show themselves in the dining-room. 
They were all too much ashamed at having been seen, as they 
were, so unexpectedly, by a stranger ! 

*' Let us sit upon the Ground." 

One summer's evening he had to travel a short distance in 
his own country, in the county of Sussex ; — such, if I mistake 
not, for I know the adventure only from Bysshe's account of it, 
was the scene of his whimsical exploit. He set out on foot, ex- 
pecting that the stage would soon overtake him. He had not 
proceeded far when the heavy coach came up. There was no 
room outside, but the six inside seats were unoccupied ; he got 
in, and the vehicle rumbled along the dusty road. For a little 
while it was all very well, but the heavy stage coach stopped 
suddenly, and a heavy old woman came in to him, reddened 
with heat, steaming and running down with perspiration. She 
took her place in the middle seat, like a huge ass between a 
pair of enormous panniers ; for, on one side was a mighty 
basket, crammed full of mellow apples, and on the other a like 
basket, equally well filled with large onions. The odor of the 
apples and the onions, and the aspect of the heated, melting, 
smoking old woman, were intolerable to the delicate, sensitive 
young poet. He bore it, at first, patiently, then impatiently, 
at last he could endure it no longer ; so, starting up, he seated 
himself on the floor of the coach, and, fixing his tearful, woeful 
eyes upon her, he addressed his companion thus, in thrilling 
accents : 

"For heaven's sake, let us sit upon the ground. 
And tell sad stories of the death of kings ! 
How some have been deposed, some slain in war. 
Some haunted by the ahosts they dispossessed ; 
Some poisoned by their wives ; some sleeping killed. 
All murdered ! " 



SHELLEY AN DINNERS. 1 63 

'' Oh, dear f " exclaimed the terrified old woman. *^Dear ! 
dear ! Oh, Lord ! Oh, Lord ! " 

But when he shrieked out the two last words, " All mur- 
dered ! " she ran to the window in an agony, and, thrusting 
out her head, cried : 

^^ Oh, guard, guard ! stop! Oh, guard, guard, guard! let 
me out ! " 

The door was opened, she alighted immediately with her 
strong-smelling wares, and through the united wit of two great 
poets, that of Shakspeare and his own, he was permitted to 
finish his journey alone. 

He was proud of this achievement, and delighted in it long 
afterwards. 

" Show us, Bysshe, how you got rid of the old woman in 
Sussex." 

He sprang wildly on his feet, and, taking his seat on the floor, 
with a melancholy air, and in a piteous voice, cried out : 

*' For heaven's sake, let us sit upon the ground ! " 

When he had given out the words, " All murdered! " with a 
fiendish yell, he started up, threw open the window, and began 
to call, ^^ Guard! guard!" often to the astonishment of per- 
sons passing by, whose temperament was less poetic, and less 
excitable than his own. 

So moving were the woes of the gentle Richard Plantagenet, 
told by the great dramatist, and declaimed by another poet, 
second to him, at least in time ! So drastic was their effect ! 

Shelleyan Dinners. 

At the bare proposal to order dinner, poor Shelley stood 
aghast, in speechless trance ; when he had somewhat recovered 
from the outrage to his feelings, ^^ Ask Harriet," he shrilly 
cried, with a desponding, supplicating mien. The good Harriet 
herself was no proficient in culinary arts ; she had never been 
initiated in the mysteries of housewifery : '^ Whatever you 
please," was her ordinary answer. 

I was once staying at the house of a country clergyman ; the 



1 64 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 

worthy pastor was eminently skilled in divine things ; his not 
less worthy wife was deeply conversant with human affairs, well 
versed in all the learning of the kitchen, excellent in ordering 
the genial board, as became the helpmate of a first-rate theolo- 
gian. There were usually a few neighbors, guests at dinner. 
Amongst these, one day, was a lovely young woman ; healthy, 
comely, fair, and plump ; the daughter of a substantial farmer 
of a superior degree. 

When the visitors had departed, my kind and notable hostess 
asked me in confidence what I thought of the handsome, well- 
fleshed girl ? 

*^ I think that she is a beautiful creature! I have seldom 
seen a prettier young woman of the kind ! " 

'' She is, indeed, and she is as good as she is beautiful — so 
useful in a house." 

" I had heard much about her, but I never saw her before ; 
and I am satisfied that all I heard about her is true. I have 
had a great deal of talk with her ; she seems to understand 
everything, and to be wonderfully clever in a family. I could 
not take my eyes off her all the evening ; I am afraid she would 
think me rude, but I could not help it ! " *^ She is so beauti- 
ful, it is very difficult to help looking at her ; it is not easy to 
take one's eyes off her ! " ^' No ! It is not indeed ! I sat look- 
ing at her, and thinking what delightful jellies she would make ; 
I could not help looking at her, and saying to myself, how I 
should like to taste her calves' -foot jelly. And I longed to tell 
her so ! " 

Poor Harriet had pledged herself at Keswick to learn of Mrs. 
Southey to make tea cakes ; but Mrs. Southey would not teach, 
or Harriet would not learn, and she had not redeemed her 
pledge. It was her only chance, and she lost it, which was un- 
fortunate : it would have been a green spot in a desert. To 
say, •' Whatever you please," is a sorry mode of ordering din- 
ner, and it was all she ever said on that head. Some consider- 
able time after the appointed hour, a roasted shoulder of mut- 
ton, of the coarsest, toughest grain, graced, or disgraced the 
ill-supplied table ; the watery gravy that issued from the per- 



SHELLE VAN DINNERS. I g 5 

verse joint, when it was cut, a duty commonly assigned to me, 
seemed the most apt of all things to embody the conception of 
penury and utter destitution. There were potatoes in every 
respect worthy of the mutton ; and the cheese, which was either 
forgotten or uneatable, closed the ungenial repast. Sometimes 
there was a huge boiled leg of mutton, boiled till the bone was 
ready to drop out of the meat, which shrank and started from 
it on all sides, without any sauce, but with turnips raw, and 
manifestly unworthy to be boiled any longer. Sometimes there 
were impregnable beefsteaks — soles for shooting-shoes. I have 
dropped a word, a hint, about a pudding ; a pudding, Bysshe 
said dogmatically, is a prejudice. I have wished that the con- 
verse of the proposition were true, and that a prejudice was a 
pudding, and then, according to the judgment of my more en- 
lightened young friends, I should never have been without one. 

Bysshe's dietary was frugal and independent ; very remark- 
able and quite peculiar to himself. When he felt hungry he 
would dash into the first baker's shop, buy a loaf and rush out 
again, bearing it under his arm ; and he strode onwards in his 
rapid course, breaking off pieces of bread and greedily swallow- 
ing them. But however frugal the fare, the waste was consid- 
erable, and his path might be tracked, like that of Hop-o'-my- 
Thumb through the wood, in Mother Goose her tale, by a long 
line of crumbs. 

The spot where he sat reading or writing, and eating his 
dry bread, was likewise marked out by a circle of crumbs and 
fragments scattered on the floor. He took with bread, fre- 
quently by way of condiment, not water-cresses, as did the 
Persians of old, according to the fable of Xenophon, but com- 
mon pudding raisins. These he purchased at some mean little 
shop, that he might be the more speedily served ; and he car- 
ried them loose in his waistcoat-pocket, and eat them with his 
dry bread. He occasionally rolled up little pellets of bread, 
and, in a sly, mysterious manner, shot them with his thumb, 
hitting the persons — whom he met in his walks — on the face, 
commonly on the nose, at which he grew to be very dexterous. 

When he was dining at a coffee-house, he would sometimes 



1 56 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, 

amuse himself thus, if that could be an amusement which was 
done unconsciously. A person receiving an unceremonious 
fillip on the nose, after this fashion, started and stared about ; 
but I never found that anybody, although I was often appre- 
hensive that some one might resent it, perceived or suspected, 
from what quarter the offending missile had come. The 
wounded party seemed to find satisfaction in gazing upwards 
at the ceiling, and in the belief that a piece of plaster had fallen 
from thence. When he was eating his bread alone over his 
book he would shoot his pellets about the room, taking aim at 
a picture, at an image, or at any other object which attracted 
his notice. He had been taught by a French lady to make 
panada ; and with this food he often indulged himself. His 
simple cookery was performed thus. He broke a quantity — 
often, indeed, a surprising quantity — of bread into a large basin, 
and poured boiling water upon it. When the bread had been 
steeped awhile, and had swelled sufficiently, he poured off the 
water, squeezing it out of the bread, which he chopped up with 
a spoon ; he then sprinkled pounded loaf sugar over it, and 
grated nutmeg upon it, and devoured the mass with a prodig- 
ious relish. He was standing one day in the middle of the 
room, basin in hand, feeding himself voraciously, gorging hin;- 
self with pap. 

^' Why, Bysshe," I said, ^^you lap it up as greedily as the 
Valkyriae in Scandinavian story lap up the blood of the slain ! " 

'^Aye!" he shouted out, with grim delight, ^^ I lap up the 
blood of the slain ! " 

The idea captivated him ; he was continually repeating 
the words ; and he often took panada, I suspect, merely 
to indulge this wild fancy, and say, '' I am going to lap up 
the blood of the slain ! To sup up the gore of murdered 
kings ! " 

Having previously fed himself after his fashion from his 
private stores, he was independent of dinner, and quite indifter- 
ent to it ; the slice of tough mutton would remain untouched 
upon his plate, and he would sit at table reading some book, 
often reading aloud, seemingly unconscious of the hospitable 



SHELLEY AN DINNERS, 1 67 

rites in which others were engaged, his bread bullets mean- 
while being discharged in every direction. 

The provisions supplied at lodgings in London were too fre- 
quently in those days detestable, and the service which was 
rendered abominable and disgusting. Meat was procured 
wherever meat might be bought most cheaply, in order that, 
being paid for dearly, a more enormous profit might be real- 
ized upon it ; and those dishes were selected in which the igno- 
rance in cookery of a servant-of- all-work might be least striking. 

Our dinners, therefore, were constructive, a dumb show, a 
mere empty, idle ceremony; our only resource against abso- 
lute starvation was tea. " We will have some muffins and 
crumpets for tea," the famished Harriet would say. ''They 
will butter them ! " Bysshe exclaimed, in a voice thrilling with 
horror. Harriet sometimes ordered them privily, without con- 
sulting him ; and when they were brought in silently and ap- 
peared smiling upon the tea-table, he dealt with them as re- 
morselessly as with Mrs. Southey's tea-cakes at Keswick. We 
meekly sought relief in buttered toast ; but the butter was too 
commonly bad, and ill-suited to our palates, but answering 
admirably the final cause of making the toast ; that not being 
relished in the parlor, there might be more left for the unclean 
maid to eat. Penny buns were our assured resource. The 
survivors of those days of peril and hardship are indebted for 
their existence to the humane interposition and succor of penny 
buns. A shilling's worth of penny buns for tea. If the pur- 
chase was entrusted to the maid, she got such buns as none 
could believe to have been made on earth, proving thereby in- 
contestably that the girl had some direct communication with 
the infernal regions, where alone they could have been pro- 
cured. Shelley was fond of penny buns, but he never bought 
them unless he was put up to it. 

"" Get a shilling's worth of penny buns, Bysshe," Harriet 
said, '"' at some good confectioner's," the situation of whose 
shop she described. 

He rushed out with incredible alacrity, like a Wind God, and 
in an instant returned, and was heard stumbling and tumbling 



1 68 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, 

upstairs, with the bag of buns, open at the top, in his hand ; 
and he would sometimes, in his hot haste, drop them on the 
stairs, and they all rolled down to the bottom, and he picked 
them up again ; but we were not particular. We had our own 
tea ; it usually lay spread out on an open paper upon a side 
table ; others might help themselves, and probably they did 
so, but there was always some left for us. 

'' Poor Matilda." 

There was a coarse, fat woman, who used to sponge upon 
him unmercifully under pretence of breaking blood-vessels. It 
was said that her lungs were her stock in trade ; that she got 
three hundred a-year by her broken blood-vessels, receiving, 
as it were, compensation to that amount at least from the credu- 
lously charitable. 

'^ Poor Matilda," that was not quite the name, he said to me, 
one day, horror-stricken with trembling compassion, '' poor 
Matilda has broken a blood-vessel, and is spitting blood ! " 

'^ Poor Matilda," I answered, '^ has broken the cheese- toaster, 
and is spitting toasted cheese ! " 

He thought me very inhuman, I am sure, but he laughed ; 
in truth, the woman was only drunk all the time. He colored 
and laughed, but relieved her, and she continued to spit blood 
and to sponge upon the poor fellow, and, in every sense of the 
word, to spoil him. 

Dread of Elephantiasis. 

In a crowded stage-coach Shelley once happened to sit oppo- 
site an old woman with very thick legs, who, as he imagined, 
was afflicted with elephantiasis, an exceedingly rare and most 
terrible disease, in which the legs swell and become as thick as 
those of an elephant, together with many other distressing 
symptoms, as the thickening and cracking of the skin, and in- 
deed a whole Iliad of woes, of which he had recently read a 
formidable description in some medical work, that had taken 
entire possession of his fanciful and impressible soul. The 
patient, quite unconscious of her misery, sat dozing quietly 



DREAD OF ELEPHANTIASIS, i6j 

over against him. He also took it into his head that the disease 
is very infectious, and that he had caught it of his corpulent 
and drowsy fellow-traveller ; he presently began to discover un- 
equivocal symptoms of the fearful contagion in his own person. 
I never saw him so thoroughly unhappy as he was, whilst he 
continued under the influence of this strange and unaccounta- 
ble impression. His female friends tried to laugh him out of 
his preposterous whim, bantered him and inquired how he came 
to find out that his fair neighbor had such thick legs ? He did 
not relish, or even understand, their jests, but sighed deeply. 
By the advice of his friends, he was prevailed upon to consult 
a skilful and experienced surgeon, and submitted to a minute 
and careful examination : the surgeon of course assured him 
that no signs or trace of elephantiasis could be discerned. He 
farther informed him, that the disease is excessively rare, al- 
most unknown, in this part of the world ; that it is not infec- 
tious, and that a person really afflicted by it could not bear to 
travel in a crowded stage-coach. Bysshe shook his head, 
sighed still more deeply, and was more thoroughly convinced 
than ever that he was the victim of a cruel and incurable dis- 
ease ; and that these assurances were only given with the hu- 
mane design of soothing one doomed to a miserable and inev- 
itable death. His imagination was so much disturbed, that he 
was perpetually examining his own skin, and feeling and look- 
ing at that of others. One evening, during the access of his 
fancied disorder, when many young ladies were standing up for 
a country dance, he caused a wonderful consternation amongst 
these charming creatures by walking slowly along the row of 
girls and curiously surveying them, placing his eyes close to 
their necks and bosoms, and feeling their breasts and bare 
arms, in order to ascertain whether any of the fair ones had 
taken the horrible disease. He proceeded with so much gravity 
and seriousness, and his looks were so woe-begone, that they 
did not resist, or resent, the extraordinary liberties, but looked 
terrified, and as if they were about to undergo some severe 
surgical operation at his hands. Their partners were standing 
opposite in silent and angry amazement, unable to decide in 
8 



170 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, 

what way the strange manipulations were to be taken ; yet no- 
body interrupted his heart-broken handhngs, which seemed, 
from his dejected air, to be preparatory to cutting his own 
throat. At last the lady of the house perceived what the young 
philosopher was about, and by assuring him that not one of the 
young ladies, as she had herself ascertained, had been infected, 
and, with gentle expostulations, induced him to desist, and to 
suffer the dancing to proceed without further examinations. 

The monstrous delusion continued for some days ; with the 
aspect of grim despair he came stealthily and opened the bosom 
of my shirt several times a day, and minutely inspected my 
skin, shaking his head, and by his distressed mien plainly sig- 
nifying that he was not by any means satisfied with the state 
of my health. He also quietly drew up my sleeves, and by 
rubbing it investigated the skin of my arms ; he also measured 
my legs and ankles, spanning them with a convulsive grasp. 
"" Bysshe, we both have the legs and the skin of an elephant, 
but neither of us has his sagacity ! " He shook his head in 
sad, silent disapproval ; to jest in the very jaws of death was 
hardened insensibility, not genuine philosophy. He opened in 
like manner the bosoms and viewed the skin of his other asso- 
ciates, and even of strangers. Nor did females escape his 
curious scrutiny, nor were they particularly solicitous to avoid 
it ; so impressive were the solemnity and gravity, and the pro- 
found melancholy of his fear-stricken and awe-inspiring aspect, 
that there could be no doubt of the innocence and purity of his 
intentions : and if he had proceeded to more private examina- 
tions and more delicate investigations, the young ladies would 
unquestionably have submitted themselves with reverence to 
his researches, which, however, were arrested by authority in 
the case of the fair dancers before they had greatly exceeded 
the bounds of decorum. 

This strange fancy continued to afflict him for several weeks, 
and to divert, or distress, his friends, and then it was forgotten 
as suddenly as it had been taken up, and gave place to more 
cheerful reminiscences, or forebodings : he was able to listen to, 
or even occasionally, but rarely, to relate himself droll stories. 



TAKEN FOR HIS FRIEND. 



171 



One of them, as it is perfectly innocent, may be repeated with- 
out envy or calumny : it had occurred two or three years before. 

Taken for his Friend. 

It is probable that Bysshe was now and then in like manner 
taken for his friend ; but I never was informed by him that 
this had actually happened. One misapprehension was of so 
comical a character that it ought to be related ; and since, most 
assuredly, the Loves and Graces were not concerned in the 
matter, there can be no scruples of delicacy in telling the ad- 
venture just as it fell out. I called at his lodgings one after- 
noon in the summer to walk together, as we were wont. He 
was not at home, but he had left a message for me, that if I 
went to the residence of a common friend, I should not fail to 
find him there. I at once repaired thither, and was kindly re- 
ceived, as I invariably was. He had not arrived, but if I would 
stay to dinner, I should doubtless see him, for he would come, 
if not to dinner, for certain in the course of the evening. I 
readily consented to the proposal, and I sat chatting in the 
drawing-room, hearing the news of the day, and much admira- 
tion and many commendations of my incomparable friend, 
such as I invariably heard wherever he was known. A bell 
gave warning that dinner would be served in half-an-hour, and 
I was conducted upstairs into the front bed-room to wash my 
hands. Whilst I was thus employed two ill -looking fellows 
burst abruptly into the room ; one of them locked the door 
and set his back against it, telling me that he arrested me ; that 
I was his prisoner. He was a short, stout man. The other, a 
long, lean fellow, showed me a writ, and presented me with a 
copy of it. 

^^ What does all this mean ?" I asked. 

'^ You know very well, you are Mr. Percy Bysshe Shelley! " 

^* You are pleased to say that I am." 

'^ We know very well that you are the defendant ; you need 
not try to persuade us that you are not ! " 

''Then I will not try!" 

Upon this the bailiffs became rather insolent, and were in- 



172 



PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, 



clined to be abusive. I finished washing myself and then sat 
down by the window ; the men stood in the middle of the room 
growling and grumbling. In ten minutes, or a quarter of an 
hour, there was a gentle tap at the door ; the man who had 
locked it opened it, — a spare, white-faced fellow dressed in 
black, like an undertaker's man, entered. He looked at me 
with surprise, staring hard, and whispered something to the 
bailiffs, who seemed still more astonished than he was. They 
then threw open the door and told me I was at liberty, and 
might depart; it was a mistake. John Doe and Richard Roe, 
and their friend in mourning, began to offer excuses, explana- 
tions, and apologies, assuring me that they always acted on the 
best information, and seldom made mistakes. I did not answer, 
but walked down to dinner in silence. How long they remained 
in the bed-room, whether they were converted by the influences 
of the locality to a vegetable diet, and induced to return to 
nature, or what became of these worthies I know not, for I 
never fell in with any of the party again. 

The arrest, as I afterwards learnt, was for the price of the 
good Harriet's fine, new carriage. After such an indignity, and 
in order to wipe off the stigma, I ought to have had a ride, and 
a good long one, too, in the carriage ; but I had not that satis- 
faction ; I never even saw the vehicle, nor heard of it, indeed, 
except on this occasion. 

Expected at Dinner. 

It was in the year 1813 that I first became acquainted with 
William Godwin. I saw him frequently in the course of that 
year, and in the year following ; and afterwards I met him 
more or less frequently, according to circumstances. I had 
expressed a wish to know him, and I was soon invited by a 
charming family, with whom he was intimate, to dine at their 
house, where I should find him and Bysshe. I repaired 
thither, to a somewhat early dinner, in accordance with the 
habits of the philosopher. I was not on any account to be late, 
for it was unpleasant to him to dine later than four o'clock. 

It was a fine Sunday. I set out betimes, and arrived at the 



EXPECTED AT DINNER. 



173 



appointed place at half-past three. I found a short, stout, 
thickset old man, of very fair complexion, and with a bald 
and very large head, in the drawing-room, alone, where he had 
been for some time by himself, and he appeared to be rather 
uneasy at being alone. He made himself known to me as 
William Godwin ; it was thus he styled himself. His dress 
was dark, and very plain, of an old-fashioned cut, even for an 
old man. His appearance, indeed, was altogether that of a 
dissenting minister. He informed me that our hospitable host 
and his family had been called away suddenly into the country, 
and that we should not have their company, but that Mr. 
Shelley was expected every moment. He consulted several 
times a large old silver watch, and wondered greatly that he 
had not come ; but he would doubtless be with us immediately. 
He spoke confidently on a subject, which, to say the least, was 
doubtful. Bysshe, as was not uncommonly the case with him, 
never came near us. Why he made default, nobody ever 
knew, least of all did he know himself. 

'^ Had Mr. Shelley mistaken the day, the hour? Did he 
not know the place ; surely he must know it, and know it 
well ? " 

I could only say, on behalf of my absent friend, that he 
often failed to observe his engagements and appointments. It 
was his habit ; a disagreeable and most inconvenient one, cer- 
tainly. Why and how he had formed it, I could not tell, al- 
though I was much interrogated and cross-examined on that 
head. It had been the way with him ever since I had known 
him, and it was only too probable that it always would be so. 
I could not explain, excuse, defend, or justify it; I could 
merely affirm that so it was. 

At four o'clock I rang the bell, and ordered dinner. To 
this order there were objections and expostulations. 

'' We ought, in common civility, to wait awhile. Mr. Shelley 
could not fail to be with us shortly." 

The objections were overruled, and we two went to dinner ; 
and we two were a multitude, to judge from the number of 
dishes on the table. Vegetable fare was the rule of the house, 



174 



PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 



and I observed the rule myself ; but meat of various kinds had 
been prepared in various ways for the cannibal guest. He 
dined carnivorously, but very moderately, paying little attention 
to the plates of vegetables, which he seemed to contemn, as 
well as the lore by which they were zealously and learnedly 
recommended. 

William Godwin, according to my observation, always eat 
meat, and rather sparingly, and little else besides. He drank 
a glass or two of sherry, wherein I did not join him. Soon 
after dinner a large cup of very strong green tea, — of gun- 
powder tea, intensely strong, — was brought to him ; this he 
took with evident satisfaction, and it was the only thing that he 
appeared to enjoy, although our fare was excellent. Having 
drunken the tea, he set the cup and saucer forcibly upon the 
table, at a great distance from him, according to the usages of 
that old school of manners, to which he so plainly belonged. 
He presently fell into a sound sleep, sitting very forward in his 
chair, and leaning forward, so that at times he threatened to 
fall forward ; but no harm came to him. Not only did the old 
philosopher sleep soundly, deeply, but he snored loudly. 

I got a book, and retiring to the window sat reading for half 
an hour, or longer, until he awoke. He awoke suddenly, and 
appeared to be refreshed. ''Had Mr. Shelley arrived?" It 
was his first thought on waking. He would not take any more 
wine ; he would not walk. It was a lovely evening, but he 
should have quite enough of walking in coming and in return- 
ing. He would go to the drawing-room, a^xid we went upstairs. 

Sir William Cell's description of the island of Ithaca had 
just come out ; a handsome quarto volume with engravings ; 
and it lay upon the table. We looked over it together ; it 
was new to both of us, and it interested us greatly. He dis- 
coursed much of Ithaca, of Greece, of Ulysses, of Troy, of 
Homer, and of Chapman's ''' Homer : " it was manifest that 
his acquaintance with the poems of Homer was chiefly, if not 
entirely, derived from Chapman's translation. However, he 
was quite familiar with the story, the characters, the manners 
of the Odyssey. We spoke nearly all tae time we were to- 



EXPECTED AT DINNER. 



175 



gether of the many extraordinary things, of many things hard 
to be understood, which are found in that ancient and wonder- 
ful poem. The tea-things were brought in. I made tea ; I 
forget whether my companion partook of it. Tea was ahvays 
most acceptable to me, particularly whilst I was a Pythago- 
rean. Poor dear Pythagoras, with all his wisdom he did not 
know how to make himself a good cup of tea ; or where he 
might purchase a pound of passable Pekoe, or of satisfactory 
Souchong. During the whole course of our conversation and 
operations, my respected associate ever and anon recurred, 
uneasily and impatiently, to a matter which distressed him 
sorely — the absence of Mr. Shelley. 

Mr. Shelley and William Godwin — such was to be the form 
of speech : he persisted as pertinaciously in dubbing Bysshe 
Mister, as in rejecting the title for himself. He questioned me 
again and again on the subject, and I thought with a certain air 
of lurking suspicion, as if I knew more than I chose to tell ; 
as if I were privy to the plot, and that there was some deep 
design in his non-attendance. If he really believed that I was 
in the confidence of the motives and the secret of his absence, 
he did me a great injustice. 

I ventured to say a few words concerning his famous work 
on Political Justice ; but the topic did not appear to be an 
agreeable one. The author spoke of it slightingly and dis- 
paragingly, either through modesty and politeness, or because 
he really had come to consider his theories and speculations 
on government and morals, crude, unformed, and untenable. 
Whenever that publication had been mentioned to him in my 
• hearing, he uniformly treated the child of his brain like a step- 
father. Possibly he felt that his offspring had turned out ill, 
and had not requited the patience and anxiety that a fond 
parent had bestowed upon an ingrate. At last he was reluc- 
tantly convinced that we should not see the truant. '' Perhaps 
he was unwell? Did I believe that Mr. Shelley had been 
taken ill ? " On the contrary, I firmly believed that he was as 
well, and as unpunctual, as he had ever been in his life. 

William Godwin took leave of me somewhat early, at ten 



176 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 

o'clock precisely by the old watch, charging me earnestly and 
repeatedly to say a great many things to Mr. Shelley, whom 
most probably I should see first, by way of reprehension, ad- 
monition, and well-merited censure for his unwarrantable 
neglect. I promised to inform the offender of his disappoint- 
ment and dissatisfaction. I did not know in what direction the 
grave reprover's homeward course lay, or whether he might 
desire any more of my society, and therefore I did not offer to 
accompany him, as I frequently did at our subsequent meet- 
ings. The next morning I saw Bysshe. He was delighted to 
learn that I had met with William Godwin. 

'' What did he say ? What did we do ? What did I think 
of him ? How did I like him ? " 

He devoured me with greedy questions, and listened to my 
answers with eager curiosity and enthusiastic pleasure. But 
when, to keep my promise with the sage, I reported the pro- 
ceedings of the preceding day, and inquired, in my turn, why 
he had been nonsuited at our sittings, and had lost his writ of 
Nisi Prius, the rocks are never more deaf to naked, ship- 
wrecked mariners than his locked-up ears were to the interroga- 
tories and reproaches which I faithfully conveyed to him. 

Ianthe Eliza Shelley. 

I never set foot in the house ; my visits did not extend be- 
yond the door. They did not remain there long — not above a 
month, I think. The little girl was named Ianthe Eliza. She 
received the latter name, doubtless, in honor of the guardian 
angel who still continued to officiate, occasionally at least, in 
that capacity. Ianthe, violet flower, or violet, is a name of 
Greek origin, fetched immediately from Ovid's Metamorphoses, 
being the name of a girl, to possess whom another girl, Iphis, 
was transformed into a youth : 

**potiturque sua puer Iphis Ianthe," 

The fable is pleasing, and the name pretty ; yet as the young 
father had so many good old names amongst the ladies of his 



BONNE T-SHOPS. 



177 



own family, it is a pity that he did not prefer one of them to so 
fantastical an appellation. The Yankee Cockney practice of 
bestowing flowers of fancy names has a vulgarity, affectation, 
and pretension about it, and was unworthy of him. It was 
better adapted for the issue of a metropolitan rhymester than 
for a gentleman's daughter. This accession to his family did 
not appear to afford him any gratification, or to create an in- 
terest. He never spoke of his child to me, and to this hour I 
never set eyes on her. This I regret, as I believe she is a most 
estimable person, and in every respect worthy of her parents, 
and, moreover, suitably married ; lanthe the second having 
found a second Iphis, it is presumed, without any transforma- 
tion. I often asked Harriet to let me see her little girl, but she 
always made. some excuse. She was asleep, being dressed, or 
had gone out, or was unwell. The child had some blemish, 
though not a considerable one, in one of her eyes ; and this, I 
believe, was the true and only reason why her mother did not 
choose to exhibit her. She could not bear, herself a beauty, 
that I should know, such was her weakness, that one so nearly 
connected with herself was not perfectly beautiful.* 

Bonnet-Shops. 

The good Harriet had fully recovered from the fatigues of 
her first effort of maternity, and, in fact, she had taken it 
easily. She was now in full force, vigor, and effect ; roseate 
as ever, at times, perhaps, rather too rosy. She had entirely 

* **Mr, Hogg is mistaken about Shelley's feelings as to his first child. He was 
extremely fond of it, and would walk up and down a room with it for a long time 
together, singing to it a monotonous melody of his own making. His song was, 
* Yahmani, Yahmani, Yahmani, Yahmani.' It did not please me, but, what was more 
important, it pleased the child, and lulled it when it was fretful. Shelley was ex- 
tremely fond of his children. He was pre-eminently an affectionate father. But to this 
first born there were accompaniments which did not please him. The child had a wet- 
nurse whom he did not like, and was much looked after by his wife's sister, whom he 
intensely disliked. I have often thought that if Harriet had nursed her own child, and 
if this sister had not lived with them, the link of their married love would not have so 
readily broken." — Peacock. 

[This child, a Mrs. Esdaile, died in the present year, at the age of sixty-three. — ^.] 
O-X- 



178 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, 

relinquished her favorite practice of reading aloud, which had 
been formerly a passion. I do not remember hearing her read 
even once after the birth of her child ; the accustomed exercise 
of the chest had become fatiguing, or she was weary of it. 
Neither did she read much to herself; her studies, which had 
been so constant and exemplary, had dwindled away to noth- 
ing, and Bysshe had ceased to express any interest in them, 
and to urge her, as of old, to devote herself to the cultivation 
of her mind. When I called upon her, she proposed a walk, 
if the weather was fine, instead of the vigorous and continuous 
readings of preceding years. 

The walk commonly conducted us to some fashionable bonnet- 
shop ; the reading, it is not to be denied, was sometimes tire- 
some, the contemplation of bonnets was always so. However, 
there is a variety, a considerable variety and diversity in the 
configuration of bonnets. When we descended into the region of 
caps, their sameness and insipidity I found intolerable. They 
appeared to me all alike, equally devoid of interest ; I could 
not bring myself to care whether there were two or three more 
sprigs in the crown, or a little more or less lace on the edge. 
Besides, a cap was never quite right ; it must be altered on the 
spot, taken in, or let out ; that could be done in a minute ; the 
minute was a long one. And, uniformly, too much or too 
little had been effected by the change ; it was to be altered 
again in another and a longer minute. I rebelled against this, 
so I was left outside the shop, like a wicked rebel, for one mo- 
ment. 

To loiter in the street on a cold day, for the indefinite and 
interminable period of one moment, was a punishment too 
severe even for rebellion and high treason, for treason against 
a high- crowned cap. So the walking, as well as the reading, 
came to an end. 

When I called on Bysshe, Harriet was often absent ; she had 
gone out with Eliza, — gone to her father's. Bysshe himself was 
sometimes in London, and sometimes at Bracknell, where he 
spent a good deal of his time in visiting certain friends, with 
whom, at that period, he was in very close alliance, and upon 



FIELD PLACE. 



179 



terms of the greatest intimacy, and by which connection his 
subsequent conduct, I think, was much influenced. 

'' Mary!" ^^ Shelley." 

We walked westward, through Newgate Street. When we 
reached Skinner Street, he said, " I must speak with Godwin ; 
come in, I will not detain you long." 

I followed him through the shop, which was the only entrance, 
and upstairs. We entered a room on the first floor ; it was 
shaped like a quadrant. In the arc were windows ; in one 
radius a fireplace, and in the other a door, and shelves with 
many old books. William Godwin was not at home. Bysshe 
strode about the room, causing the crazy floor of the ill-built, 
unowned dwelling-house to shake and tremble under his impa- 
tient footsteps. He appeared to be displeased at not finding 
the fountain of Political Justice. '^ Where is Godwin ? " he 
asked me several times, as if I knew. I did not know, and, to 
say the truth, I did not care. He continued his uneasy prome- 
nade ; and I stood reading the names of old English authors on 
the backs of the venerable volumes, when the door was partially 
and softly opened. A thrilling voice called '^Shelley!" A 
thrilhng voice answered, ^^ Mary ! " And he darted out of the 
room, like an arrow from the bow of the far-shooting king. A 
very young female, fair and fair-haired, pale indeed, and with 
a piercing look, wearing a frock of tartan, an unusual dress in 
London at that time, had called him out of the room. He was 
absent a very short time — a minute or two ; and then returned. 
^' Godwin is out ; there is no use in waiting." So we contin- 
ued our walk along Holborn. 

'' Who was that, pray ? " I asked ; ^^ a daughter ? " 

*'Yes." 

^' A daughter of William Godwin ? " 

'' The daughter of Godwin and Mary." 

Field Place. 

Let us take one more peep at Field Place ; one more only, 
and it will be the last, for it was Bysshe's last visit to his pater- 



l8o PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, 

nal hearth and native home. In the beginning of the summer 
of 1 8 14, he walked one day alone from Bracknell to Horsham. 
A long and a pleasant walk, I should imagine. He was in an 
excited state, and had revelations by the way, and saw celes- 
tial visions. 

A young officer in a marching regiment had been quartered 
some little time at Horsham ; he met with hospitality and kind- 
ness, as others did, at Field Place. He assisted at the brief 
return of the prodigal son ; he was present at the last visit, and 
he has given us a written account of it, from which I will ex- 
tract such particulars as are interesting. It is strangely inter- 
larded with laudations of his benefactors; such rapturous grati- 
tude is creditable to his feelings ; but in mercy to all persons 
concerned, it is expedient to omit his demonstrations of it. 
One may infer from the tune and temper of Bysshe's last letter 
to myself, that his family might have had him then on reason- 
able, on easy terms, had they known how to negotiate a treaty 
of peace. They might probably have lured the wild hawk, the 
peregrine falcon, back to his perch without difficulty. Possi- 
bly they did not know it ; certainly they did not know how to 
set about • it ; and the young wanderer was reserved for other, 
and for higher and more important destinies : man proposes, 
but man seldom disposes. It is a strange and a sad picture of 
the fruits of stubborn, intractable, wrong-headed violence to 
contemplate his mother and sisters timidly entertaining for the 
last time the divine poet disguised as a soldier. The friendly, 
reception of the young officer at Field Place is related, and the 
narrative proceeds thus. 

'' At this time I had not seen Shelley, but the servants, es- 
pecially the old butler, Laker, had spoken of him to me. He 
seemed to have won the hearts of the whole household. Mrs. 
Shelley often spoke to me of her son ; her heart yearned after 
him with all the fondness of a mother's love. It was during the 
absence of his father and the three youngest children, that the 
natural desire of a mother to see her son induced her to pro- 
pose that he should pay her a short visit. At this time he re- 
sided somewhere in the country with his first wife and their 



FIELD PLACE. l8l 

only child, lanthe. He walked from his house, until within a 
very few miles of Field Place, when a farmer gave him a seat 
in his travelling cart. As he passed along the farmer, ignorant 
of the quality of his companion, amused Bysshe with descrip- 
tions of the country and its inhabitants. When Field Place 
came in sight, he told whose seat it was ; and as the most 
remarkable incident connected with the family, that young 
Master Shelley seldom went to church. The poor fellow ar- 
rived at Field Place exceedingly fatigued. I came there the 
following morning to meet him. I found him with his mother 
and his two elder sisters in a small room off the drawing-room, 
which they had named Confusion Hall. He received me with 
frankness and kindliness, as if he had known me from childhood, 
and at once won my heart. I fancy I see him now, as he sat 
by the window, and hear his voice, the tones of which impressed 
me with his sincerity and simplicity. His resemblance to his 
sister, Elizabeth, was as striking as if they had been twins. 
His eyes were most expressive, his complexion beautifully 
fair ; his features exquisitely fine ; his hair was dark, and no 
peculiar attention to its arrangement was manifest. In person 
he was slender and gentleman-like, but inclined to stoop ; his 
gait was decidedly not military. The general appearance in- 
dicated great delicacy of constitution. One would at once pro- 
nounce of him, that he was something different from other men. 
There was an earnestness in his manner, and such perfect 
gentleness of breeding and freedom from everything artificial 
as charmed every one. I never met a man who so immedi- 
ately won upon me. The generosity of his disposition and utter 
unselfishness imposed upon him the necessity of strict self- 
denial in personal comforts. Consequently he was obliged to be 
most economical in his dress. He one day asked us, how we 
liked his coat, the only one he had brought with him. We said 
it was very nice, it looked as if new. Well, said he, it is an 
old black coat, which I have had done up, and smartened with 
metal buttons and a velvet collar. As it was not desirable that 
Bysshe's presence in the country should be known, we arranged 
that on walking out he should wear my scarlet uniform, and 



1 82 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, 

that I should assume his outer garments. So he donned the 
soldier's dress, and sallied forth. His head was so remarkably 
small, that though mine be not large, the cap came down over 
his eyes, the peak resting on his nose, and it had to be stuffed 
before it would fit him. His hat just stuck on the crown of my 
head. He certainly looked like anything but a soldier. 

'^ The metamorphosis was very amusing ; he enjoyed it much, 
and made himself perfectly at home in his unwonted garb. 
We gave him the name of Captain Jones, under which name 
we used to talk of him after his departure ; but, with all our 
care, Bysshe's visit could not be kept a secret. I chanced to 
mention the name of Sir James Mackintosh, of whom he ex- 
pressed the highest admiration. He told me Sir James was 
intimate with one to whom, as he said, he owed everything ; 
from whose book. Political Justice, he had derived all that was 
valuable in knowledge and virtue. He discoursed with elo- 
quence and enthusiasm ; but h s views seemed to me exquis- 
itely metaphysical, and by no means clear, precise, or decided. 
He told me he had already read the Bible in Hebrew four 
times. He was then only twenty- two years of age. Shelley 
never learnt Hebrew ; he probably said, in Greek, for he was 
much addicted to reading the Septuagint. He spoke of the 
Supreme Being as of infinite mercy and benevolence. He dis- 
closed no fixed views of spiritual things ; all seemed wild and 
fanciful. He said, that he once thought the surrounding at- 
mosphere was peopled with the spirits of the departed. He 
reasoned and spoke as a perfect gentleman, and treated my 
arguments, boy as I was, — I had lately completed my sixteenth 
year, — with as much consideration and respect as if I had been 
his equal in ability and attainments. Shelley was one of the 
most sensitive of human beings ; he had a horror of taking life, 
and looked upon it as a crime. He read poetry with great 
emphasis and solemnity : one evening, he read aloud to us a 
translation of one of Goethe's poems, and at this day I think I 
hear him. In music he seemed to delight, as a medium of as- 
sociation : the tunes which had been favorites in boyhood 
charmed him. There was one, which he played several times on 



GROVE'S RECOLLECTIONS OF SHELLEY. jgj 

the piano with one hand, that seemed to absorb him ; it was an 
exceedingly simple air, which, I understand, his earhest love 
was wont to play for him. Poor fellow ! He soon left us, and I 
never saw him afterwards, but I can never forget him. It was 
his last visit to Field Place. He was an amiable, gentle being." 

Grove's Recollections of Shelley. 

My dear H., Torquay, Feb. 16, 1857. 

It is very difficult, after so long a time, to remember with 
accuracy events which occurred so long ago. The first time I 
ever saw Bysshe was when I was at Harrow. I was nine years 
old ; my brother George, ten. We took him up at Brentford, 
where he was at school, at Dr. Greenlaw's ; a servant of my 
father's taking care of us all. He accompanied us to Feme, 
and spent the Easter holidays there. The only circumstance 
I can recollect in connection with that visit was, that Bysshe, 
who was some few years older than we were, thought it would 
be good service to play carpenters, and, under his auspices, we 
got the carpenters' axes, and cut down some of my father's 
young fir-trees in the park. My father often used to remind me 
of that circumstance. 

I did not meet Bysshe again after that till I was fifteen, the 
year I left the navy, and then I went to Field Place with my 
father, mother, Charlotte, and Harriet. Bysshe was there, 
having just left Eton, and his sister, Elizabeth. Bysshe was at 
that time more attached to my sister Harriet than I can ex- 
press, and I recollect well the moonlight walks we four had at 
Strode, and also at St. Irving's ; that, I think, was the name of 
the place, then the Duke of Norfolk's, at Horsham. (St. Irv- 
ing's Hills, a beautiful place, on the right hand side as you go 
from Horsham to Field Place, laid out by the famous Capability 
Brown, and full of magnificent forest-trees, waterfalls, and 
rustic seats. The house was Elizabethan. All has been de- 
stroyed.) That was in the year 1810. After our visit at Field 
Place, we went to my brother's house in Lincoln's Inn Fields, 
where Bysshe, his mother, and Elizabeth joined us, and a very 
happy month we spent. Bysshe was full of life and spirits^ and 



1 84 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, 

very well pleased with his successful devotion to my sister. In 
the course of that summer, to the best of my recollection, after 
we had retired into Wiltshire, a continual correspondence was 
going on, as, I believe, there had been before, between Bysslie 
and my sister Harriet. But she became uneasy at the tone of 
his letters on speculative subjects, at first consulting my mother, 
and subsequently my father also on the subject. This led at 
last, though I cannot exactly tell how, to the dissolution of an 
engagement between Bysshe and my sister, which had previ- 
ously been permitted, both by his father and mine. ' 

In the autumn of 1810 Bysshe went to Oxford, to reside at 
University College, where he became acquainted with Mr. 
Hogg, and formed an intimate friendship with him. He found 
in him a kindred spirit as to his studies and speculations on 
various subjects, and it was not long ere Bysshe began to write 
on these. During the Christmas vacation of that year, and in 
January, 181 1, I spent part of it with Bysshe at Field Place, 
and when we returned to London, his sister Mary sent a letter 
of introduction with a present to her schoolfellow. Miss West- 
brook, which Bysshe and I were to take to her. I recollect we 
did so, calling at Mr. Westbrook's house. I scarcely know how 
it came about, but from that time Bysshe corresponded with 
Miss Westbrook. And not long after, for it was very soon after 
the Lent term had commenced, a little controversial work was 
published at Oxford. The pamphlet had not the author's name, 
but it was suspected in the University who was the author ; and 
the young friends were dismissed from Oxford, for contuma- 
ciously refusing to deny themselves to be the authors of the 
work. 

Bysshe and his friend then came to London, his father at 
that time refusing to receive Bysshe at Field Place. He came, 
therefore, to my brother's house in Lincoln's-inn Fields, I was 
then in town, attending Mr. Abernethy's anatomical lectures. 
The thought of anatomy, especially after a few conversations 
with my brother, became quite delighcful to Bysshe, and he 
attended a course with me, and sometimes went also to St. 
Bartholomew's Hospital. At that time Bysshe and his friend 



GROVE'S RECOLLECTIONS OF SIIELLE V. i S 5 

took a lodging in Poland-streetj where they continued for some 
time ; I think, a great part of the spring, and I spent a part of 
every day with them. No particular incident occurred at the 
time ; at least I do not recollect any. They both, but espe- 
cially Bysshe, were occupied all the mornings in writing ; and 
after the anatomical lecture, we used sometimes to walk in St. 
James's Park, where Bysshe used to express his dislike of sol- 
diers ; objecting to a standing army, as being calculated to 
fetter the minds of the people. 

In the course of the spring, when his father was attending 
Parliament, an effort was made by the Duke of Norfolk to 
persuade my cousin to become a politician, under his auspices. 
By the Duke's invitation Bysshe met his father, at dinner at 
Norfolk House, to talk over a plan for bringing him in as 
member for Horsham, and to induce him to exercise his talents 
in the pursuit of politics. I recollect the indignation Bysshe 
expressed after that dinner, at what he considered an effort made 
to shackle his mind, and introduce him into life as a mere fol- 
lower of the Duke. His father was puzzled what to do when 
that plan failed. 

In the meantime, my brother Thomas, and his first wife, a 
very nice person, came to town for a few weeks, and became 
acquainted with Bysshe. He had heard much of Cwm Elan, 
in Radnorshire (at that time belonging to my brother, but since 
sold), from my sister Harriet, and wishing much to see the 
place, he received an invitation from my brother Tom and his 
wife to go there that summer, which he did. Whilst on the 
visit, his continued correspondence with Miss W. led to his 
return to London, and subsequent elopement with her. He 
corresponded with me also, during this period, and wrote me a 
letter concerning what he termed, his summons to link his fate 
with another, closing his communication thus : ^' Hear it 
not, Percy, for it is a knell, which summons thee to heaven 
or to hell ! " I sometimes think I have that letter locked 
up at S. If I go there in the summer, and find it, I will send 
it to you. 

When Bysshe finally crme to town to elope with Miss W., 



1 86 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, 

he came, as usual, to Lincoln's-inn-Fields, and I was his com- 
panion on his visits to her, and finally accompanied them early 
one morning, — I forget now the month, or the date, but it 
might have been September, — in a hackney-coach to the 
Green Dragon, in Gracechurch-street, where we remained all 
day, till the hour when the mail-coaches start, when they de- 
parted in the northern mail for York. The following spring I 
saw Bysshe and Mrs. Shelley in London. They spent the 
summer of that year, 1812, with my brother and sister at Cwm 
Elan. Mrs. G. was very much pleased with Mrs. Shelley, and 
sorry when they left them. They intended at that time to settle 
in Wales, but I think they went to the Lakes instead, Bysshe 
having become acquainted with Southey. From that time I 
never saw Bysshe again. My brother may have seen something 
of him, either in town, or in Edinburgh^ but I do not quite 
recollect how that was. 

I am afraid I have not been able to remember anything of 
Bysshe's early life that will prove of use. Though I spent 
many an afternoon and evening with Bysshe and Mr. H., 
at almost every coffee-house in London, for they changed 
their dining place daily for the sake of variety, I cannot re- 
capitulate the conversations, though vividly recollecting the 
scenes. 

Believe me, iny dear H., 
Your affectionate cousin, 
To H. S. C. H. G. 

My Dear H., Torquay, Feb. 25, 1857. 

I am indeed glad to hear of the favorable reception given 
to my few early recollections of Bysshe. I remember on the 
occasion of our going to the Duke of Norfolk's house. Hills, at 
Horsham, Bysshe's putting on a working man's dress and 
coming to my sister as a beggar, and also his taking up one of 
those very little chests of drawers, peculiar to old houses, such 
as Hills was, and carrying it off part of the way back to Field 
Place ; and Elizabeth's being in a state of consternation lest 
her father should meet with us. But Bysshe had the power 



THE GODWINS. 1 8/ 

of entering so thoroughly into the spirit of his own humor, 
that nothing could stop him when once his spirits were up, 
and he carried you along with him in his hilarious flight, 
and made you a sharer in his mirth, in a manner quite irre- 
sistible. 

During my intercourse with Bysshe, this was his one happy 
year. I never saw him after that, but with some care on his 
mind. I forgot to mention before, that during the early part 
of the summer which Bysshe spent in town, after leaving Ox- 
ford, the Prince Regent gave a splendid f^te at Carlton House, 
in which the novelty was introduced of a stream of water, in 
imitation of a river, meandering down the middle of a very 
long table, in a temporary tent erected in Carlton Gardens. 
This was much commented upon in the papers, and laughed 
at by the Opposition. Bysshe also was of the number of those 
who disapproved of the fete and its accompaniments. . He 
wrote a poem on the subject of about fifty lines, which he 
published immediately, wherein he apostrophized the Prince as 
sitting on the bank of his tiny river ; and he amused himself 
with throwing copies into the carriages of persons going to 
Carlton House after the fete. 

Believe me, &c. 
ToH. S. C. H. G. 

The Godwins. 

The intimacy with Shelley, which was not of Godwin's seek- 
ing, was destined to have a far more abiding influence on the 
lives of both. The first notice of Shelley in the Godwin 
Diaries is under date Jan. 6, 1811. '* Write to Shelly." It 
is the only time his name is so spelt, his letter was in answer 
to Shelley's first letter, in which he introduced himself, and 
was written at once, when he was not quite clear about the 
name of his correspondent. 

Shelley was at this time living at Keswick, in the earlier and 
happier days of his marriage with Harriet Westbrook, and his 
eager and restless spirit prompted him to form the acquaint- 
ance, by letter, with others whom he believed to be like him- 



1 88 PERCY BYS SI-IE SHELLEY. 

self enthusiasts in the cause of humanity, of Hberty, and 
progress. 

P. B. Shelley to Williain Godwin, 

" Keswick, yan. 3, 18x1. 

'^ You will be surprised at hearing from a stranger. 

No introduction has, nor in all probability ever will, authorize 
that which common thinkers would call a liberty. It is, how- 
ever, a liberty which, although not sanctioned by custom, is so 
far from being reprobated by reason, that the dearest interests 
of mankind imperiously demand that a certain etiquette of 
fashion should no longer keep ' man at a distance from man,' 
and impose its flimsy barriers between the free communication 
of intellect. The name of Godwin has been accustomed to 
excite in me feelings of reverence and admiration. I have 
been accustomed to consider him as a luminary too dazzling 
for the darkness which surrounds him, and from the earliest 
period of my knowledge of his principles, I have ardently 
desired to share in the footing of intimacy that intellect which 
I have delighted to contemplate in its emanations. Consider- 
ing, then, these feelings, you will not be surprised at the incon- 
ceivable emotion with which I learned your existence and your 
dwelling. I had enrolled your name on the list of the honor- 
able dead. I had felt regret that the glory of your being had 
passed from this earth of ours. It is not so. You still live, 
and I firmly believe are still planning the welfare of human 
kind. I have but just entered on the scene of human opera- 
tions, yet my feelings and my reasonings correspond with what 
yours were. My course has been short, but eventful. I have 
seen much of human prejudice, suffered much from human 
persecution, yet I see no reason hence inferable which should 
alter my wishes for their renovation. The ill treatment I have 
met with has more than ever impressed the truth of my princi- 
ples on my judgment. I am young : I am ardent in the cause 
of philanthropy and truth : do not suppose that this is vanity. 
I am not conscious that it influences the portraiture. I imag- 
ine myself dispassionately describing the state of my mind. I 
am young : you have gone before me, I doubt not are a veteran 



THE GODWINS. 1 89 

to me in the years of persecution. Is it strange that, defying 
persecution as I have done, I should outstep the hmits of 
custom's prescription, and endeavor to make my desire useful 
by friendship with William Godwin ? I pray you to answer 
this letter. Imperfect as it may be, my capacity, my desire, 
is ardent, and unintermitted. Half-an-hour would be at least 
humanity employed in the experiment. I may mistake your 
residence. Certain feelings, of which I may be an inadequate 
arbiter, may induce you to desire concealment. I may not in 
fine have an answer to this letter. If I do not, when I come to 
London I shall seek for you. I am convinced I could represent 
myself to you in such terms as not to be thought wholly un- 
worthy of your friendship. At least, if any desire for universal 
happiness has any claim upon your preference, that desire I 
can exhibit. Adieu. I shall earnestly await your answer. 

*'P. B. Shelley." 

When arranging his usual short summer excursion in 18 12, 
Godwin determined to combine this with a visit to the Shelleys. 
They had asked him to visit him, but no time had been fixed 
for his arrival ; indeed the invitation had not been pressed 
when Godwin first thought of making his tour westward, for 
the Shelleys feared they could scarcely make him quite com- 
fortable in the limited accommodation they could offer him. 
But on his arrival at Lynmouth, the Shelleys were gone, and 
had taken up their abode at Tanyrallt in North Wales. 

William Godwin to Mrs. Godwin, 

" Lynmouth, Valley of Stones, SeJ^. igth, 18 12. 

'' My dear Love, — The Shelleys are gone ! have been 
gone these three weeks. I hope you hear the first from me ; I 
dread lest every day may have brought you a letter from them, 
conveying this strange intelligence. I know you would conjure 
up a thousand frightful ideas of my situation under this disap- 
pointment. I have myself a disposition to take quietly any 
evil, when it can no longer be avoided, when it ceases to be 
attended with uncertainty, and when I can already compute 



I go PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, 

the amount of it. I heard this news instantly on my arrival at 
this place, and therefore walked immediately (that is, as soon 
as I had dined) to the Valley of Stones, that, if I could not 
have what was gone away, I might at least not fail to visit what 
remained. 

'^ You advise me to return by sea ; I thank you a thousand 
times for your kind and considerate motive in this, but cer- 
tainly nothing more could be proposed to me at this moment 
than a return by sea. I left Bristol at one o'clock on Wednes- 
day, and arrived here at four o'clock on Friday, after a passage 
of fifty-one hours. We had fourteen passengers, and only four 
berths, therefore I lay down only once for a few hours. We 
had very little wind, and accordingly regularly tided it for six 
hours, and lay at anchor for six, till we reached this place. 
This place is fifteen miles short of Ilfracombe. If the captain, 
after a great entreaty from the mate and one of his passengers 
(for I cannot entreat for such things) [had not] lent me his own 
boat to put me ashore, I really think I should have died with 
ennui. We anchored, Wednesday night, somewhere within 
sight of the Holmes (small islands, so called, in the British 
Channel). The next night we came within sight of Minehead, 
but the evening set in with an alarming congregation of black 
clouds, the sea rolled vehemently without a wind (a phenomenon 
which is said to portend a storm) and the captain in a fright 
put over to Penarth, near Cardiff, and even told us he should 
put us ashore there for the night. At Penarth, he said, there 
was but one house, but it had a fine large barn annexed to it 
capable of accommodating us all. This was a cruel reverse to 
me and my fellow-passengers, who had never doubted that we 
should reach the end of our voyage some time in the second 
day. By the time, however, we had made the Welsh coast, 
the frightful symptoms disappeared, the night became clear 
and serene, and I landed here happily — that is, without further 
accident — the next day. These are small events to a person 
accustomed to a seafaring life, but they were not small to 
me, and you will allow that they were not much mitigated 
by the elegant and agreeable accommodations of our crazed 



THE GODWINS. igi 

vessel. I was not decisively seasick, but had qualmish and 
discomforting sensations from the time we left the Bristol 
river, particularly after having lain down a few hours of 
Wednesday night. 

*^ Since writing the above I have been to the house where 
Shelley lodged, and I bring good news. I saw the woman of 
the house, and I was delighted with her. She is a good creature, 
and quite loved the Shelleys. They lived here nine weeks and 
three days. They went away in a great hurry, in debt to her 
and two more. They gave her a draft upon the Honorable Air. 
Lawless, brother to Lord Cloncurry, and they borrowed of her 
twenty-nine shillings, besides ^3 that she got for them from a 
neighbor, all of which they faithfully returned when they got 
to Ilfracombe, the people not choosing to change a bank-note 
Avhich had been cut in half for safety in sending it by the post. 
But the best news is that the woman says they will be in Lon- 
don in a fortnight. This quite comforts my heart." 

The Shelleys arrived in London after their stay at Tanyrallt 
on October 4th, and dined with Godwin. They remained in 
London just six weeks, during which time Shelley and Godwin 
met»almost daily, and he with his wife and her sister, Miss West- 
brook, were frequent visitors in Skinner street. Of the two 
persons who were most to influence Shelley's life in after years, 
Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin and Jane Clairmont, who made 
her home with him and his second wife, he saw but little. 
Mary Godwin was just fifteen, was still a child, and considered 
as such in her family. Her half-sister Fanny was Miss Godwin, 
and was, after this visit, Shelley's friend and occasional corre- 
spondent. Jane Clairmont was only at home for two nights 
during the six weeks Shelley spent in London. She was 
several years older than Fanny, and even then led a somewhat 
independent life apart from her mother and step-father, pre- 
sumably as a governess, since that was the occupation she 
afterwards followed in Italy, during the intervals of her resi- 
dence with the Shelleys. In those later days, however, it 
seemed more poetical to an imaginative mind to call herself 



192 



PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, 



^' Clair " instead of Jane, by which self-chosen name she appears 
in the Shelley Diaries. Godwin, however, preferring blunt 
reality, sticks to her true name. 

When Mary Godwin was fifteen her father received a letter 
from an unknown correspondent, who took a deep interest in 
the theories of education which had been held by Mary Woll- 
stonecraft, and who was anxious to know how far these were 
carried out in regard to the children she had left. An extract 
from Godwin's reply paints his daughter as she was at that 
period : — 

*^Your inquiries relate principally to the two daughters of 
Mary Wollstonecraft. They are neither of them brought up 
with an exclusive attention to the system and ideas of their 
mother. I lost her in 1797, and in 1801 I married a second 
time. One among the motives which led me to choose this was 
the feeling I had in myself of an incompetence for the educa- 
tion of daughters. The present Mrs. Godwin has great strength 
and activity of mind, but is not exclusively a follower of the 
notions of their mother ; and indeed, having formed a family 
establishment without having a previous provision for the sup- 
port of a family, neither Mrs. Godwin nor I have leisure 
enough for reducing novel theories of education to practice, 
while we both of us honestly endeavor, as far as our opportuni- 
ties will permit, to improve the mind and characters of the 
younger branches of our family. 

^^ Of the two persons to whom your inquiries relate, my 
own daughter is considerably superior in capacity to the one 
her mother had before. Fanny, the eldest, is of a quiet, 
modest, unshowy disposition, somewhat given to indolence, 
which is her greatest fault, but sober, observing, peculiarly 
clear and distinct in the faculty of memory, and disposed to 
exercise her own thoughts and follow her own judgment. 
Mary, my daughter, is the reverse of her in many particulars. 
She is singularly bold, somewhat miperious, and active of mind. 
Her desire of knowledge is great, and her perseverance in 
everything she undertakes almost invincible. My own daughter 



THE GODWINS. 



193 



is, I believe, very pretty ; Fanny is by no means handsome, 
but in general prepossessing." 

In 1 8 13 Shelley was again in London for a short time 
during the summer, but Mary was absent in Scotland. She 
was not strong, and as a growing girl needed purer air than 
Skinner Street could offer ; she had therefore gone to Dundee 
with her father's friends, Mr. Baxter and his daughter ; and 
remained with them six months. It was not until the summer 
of 1 8 14 that Shelley and Mary Godwin became really ac- 
quainted, when he found the child whom he had scarcely 
noticed two years before had grown into the woman of nearly 
seventeen summers. 

The story has often been told, and told in different ways ; 
but the facts as far as they can be gleaned from the scanty 
entries in Godwin's Diary are these. Shelley came to London 
on May i8th, leaving his wife at Binfield, certainly without the 
least idea that it was to be a final separation from him, though 
the relations between husband wife had for some time been in- 
creasingly unhappy. He was of course received in Godwin's 
house on the old footing of close intimacy, and rapidly fell in 
love with Mary. Fanny Godwin was away from home visiting 
some of the Wollstonecrafts, or she, three years older than 
Mary, might have discouraged the romantic attachment which 
sprang up between her sister and their friend. Jane Clair- 
mont's influence was neither then, nor at any other time, used, 
or likely to be used, judiciously. 

It was easy for the lovers, for such they became before they 
were aware of it, to meet without the attention of the parents 
being drawn to the increasing intimacy, and yet without any 
such sense of clandestine interviews, as might have disclosed 
to themselves whither they were drifting. Mary was unhappy 
at home ; she thoroughly disliked Mrs. Godwin, to whom 
Fanny was far more tolerant ; her desire for knowledge and 
love for reading were discouraged, and when seen with a book 
in her hand, she was wont to hear from her step-mother that 
her proper sphere was the storeroom. Old St. Pancras church- 

9 



194 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 

yard was then a quiet and secluded spot, where Mary Woll- 
stonecraft's grave was shaded by a fine weeping willow. Here 
Mary Godwin used to take her books in the warm days of June, 
to spend every hour she could call her own. Here her inti- 
macy with Shelley ripened, and here, in Lady Shelley's words, 
^'she placed her hand in his, and linked her fortunes with 
his own." 

It was not till July 8th that Godvvin saw in any degree \vhat 
was going on. The Diary records a '^ Talk with iMary," and a 
letter to Shelley. The explanation was satisfactory — it was 
before the mutual confession in St. Pancras churchyard — and 
Godwin and Shelley still met daily ; but the latter did not dine 
again in Skinner Street. On July 14th Harriet Shelley arrived 
in London. The entries in the Diary for that and the following 
day are : — 

'' 15, F. M[arshal] and Shelley for Nash : Balloon : P. B. 
and H. Shelley to call " ; M. and F. Jones 
call, for ^liss White : call on H. Shelley. 

'* 16, Sa. C. Turner (fr. Macintosh and Dadley) call : call 
on Shelleys ; coach w. P. B. S." 

It is quite certain that Godwin used all his influence to 
restore the old relations between husband and wife ; and on 
the 22d '^Talk with Jane, letter fr. do. Write to H. S.," 
evidently refer to his dislike of the attention which Shelley 
now paid his daughter. But it was too late ; for on July 28th, 
early in the morning, Mary Godwin left her father's house, 
accompanied by Jane Clairmont. They joined Shelley, posted 
to Dover, and crossed in an open boat to Calais during a 
violent storm, during which they were in considerable danger. 
As soon as the elopement was discovered Mrs. Godwin pursued 
the party. 

Godwin's Diary is here also extremely brief : — 

^^ 28, TJi. Five ill the morning. Macmillan calls. M. J, 
for Dover." 



THE GODWINS. 



195 



Charles Clairmont wrote to break the news to Fanny, and 
devoted himself to his step- father during the three days of 
uncertainty, till Mrs. Godwin returned from Calais on July 31st. 

On the evening of their arrival at Calais, Shelley and Mary 
began a joint diary, which was continued by one or the other 
through the remainder of Shelley's life. The entry for the 
second day gives an account of the entrance into their room of 
the landlord of the Calais Hotel to say that ^^ a fat lady had 
arrived who said that I had run away with her daughter." As 
all the world knows, her persuasions had no avail, and she 
returned alone ; Jane Clairmont, in spite of her mother's 
remonstrances, determined to stay with Shelley and Mary. 
The three went to Paris, where they bought a donkey, and 
rode him in turns to Geneva, the others walking. He was 
bought for Mary as the weakest of the party, but Shelley's feet 
were soon blistered, and he was glad to ride now and then, not 
without the jeers of the passers by, in the spirit of those who 
scoffed in the Fable of the '' Old Man and his Ass." 

Sleeping now in a cabaret and now in a cottage, they at last 
finished this strange honeymoon, and the strangest sentimental 
journey ever undertaken since Adam and Eve went forth with 
all the world before them where to choose. 

Godwin's irritation and displeasure at the step his daughter 
had taken were extreme. His own views on the subject of 
marriage had undergone a considerable change, and he was 
more alive than in former years to the strictures of the world.. 
Nor is it possible for the most enthusiastic admirers of Shelley 
to palliate materially his conduct in the matter. On any view 
of the relations between the sexes, on any view of the desira- 
bleness of divorce, the breach with Harriet was far too recent 
to justify his conduct. In spite of her after-conduct our 
sympathies cannot but be in some measure with the discarded 
wife. But neither need they be refused to Mary Godwin. Let 
it be remembered that she was not seventeen, that her whole 
sympathies were with her mother, who had held vicAvs on mar- 
riage, different indeed to those which her daughter was up- 
holding by her action, but which a young inexperienced girl 



196 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 

might easily confuse with them, that her home was unhappy, 
and that she had met one who was to her then, and through all 
her married life, as one almost divine, last and not least that 
she was upheld in all that she did by an astute and worldly 
woman, who, though no relation, stood to Mary in the place of 
an elder sister. For Miss Clairmont indeed it is difficult to 
find excuse. 



Harriet Shelley. 

[Why did Shelley marry Harriet Westbrook, and why did he 
desert Harriet Shelley ? These two questions force themselves 
on the readers of his biography, and demand answers, particu- 
larly the second one. I doubt whether Shelley could have an- 
swered it satisfactorily : he could not have justified himself, 
even to himself. Let us see what some of his biographers have 
to say about this ugliest episode of his erratic life. We will 
begin with Lady Shelley : '^ Towards the close of 18 13, estrange- 
ments, which for some time had been slowly growing between 
Mr. and Mrs. Shelley, came to a crisis. Separation ensued ; 
and Mrs. Shelley returned to her father's house. Here she gave 
birth to her second child, — a son, who died in 1826. The occur- 
ences of this painful epoch in Shelley's life, and of the causes 
which led to them, I am spared from relating. In Mary Shel- 
ley's own words : — ' This is not the time to relate the truth ; and 
.1 should reject any coloring of the truth. No account of these 
events has ever been given at all approaching reality in their 
details, either as regards himself or others ; nor shall I further 
allude to them than to remark that the errors of action commit- 
ted by a man as noble and generous as Shelley, may, as far as 
he only is concerned, be fearlessly avowed by those who loved 
him, in the firm conviction that, were they judged impartially, 
his character would stand in fairer and brighter light than that 
of any contemporary.' Of those remaining who were intimate 
with Shelley at this time, each has given us a different version of 
the sad event, colored by his own views and personal feelings. 
Evidently Shelley confided to none of these friends. We, who 



HARRIET SHELLEY. 



197 



bear his name, and are of his family, have in our possession 
papers written by his own hand, which in after years may make 
the story of his Hfe complete, and which few now living, except 
Shelley's own children, have ever perused. One mistake which 
has gone forth to the world, we feel ourselves positively called 
upon to contradict. Harriet's death has sometimes been 
ascribed to Shelley. This is entirely false. There was no 
immediate connection between her tragic end and any conduct 
on the part of her husband. It is true, however, that it was a 
permanent source of the deepest sorrow to him ; for never 
during all his after life did the dark shade depart which had 
fallen on his gentle' and sensitive nature from the self-sought 
grave of the companion of his early youth." Thus wrote Lady 
Shelley in 1859. Mr. Peacock dissents from Lady Shelley re- 
specting the separation of Shelley and Harriet, and remarks that 
whatever degree of confidence Shelley may have placed in his 
several friends, there are some facts which speak for themselves, 
and admit of no misunderstanding. He shows, by an extract 
from one of Shelley's letters, that no estrangement had taken 
place to the end of 1812, and states his memory sufficiently 
attests that there was none in 18 13. ^'Shelley returned to 
London shortly before Christmas, then took a furnished house 
for two or three months at Windsor, visiting London occasion- 
ally. In March, 18 14, he married Harriet a second time, ac- 
cording to the following certificate : — 



''Marriages in March ^ 18 14. 

164. Percy Bysshe Shelley and Harriet Shelley (formerly Har- 
riet Westbrook, Spinster, a Minor), both of this Parish, 
were re-married in this Church by Licence (the parties 
having been already married to each other according to the 
Rites and Ceremonies of the Church of Scotland), in order 
to obviate all doubts that have arisen, or shall or may arise, 
touching or concerning the validity of the aforesaid Marriage 
(by and with the consent of John Westbrook, the paternal 



ic^8 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 

and lawful father of the said Minor) the twenty- fourth day 
of March, in the Year 1814. — By me, 

Edward Williams, Curate, 

This marriage C Percy Bysshe Shelley, 
was solemnized < Harriet Shelley, formerly 
between us f Harriet Westbrook. 



T r S John Westbrook, 

In presence of jj^^^ Stanly. 



The above is a true extract from the Register Book of Mar- 
riages belonging to the Parish of Saint George, Hanover-square ; 
extracted this eleventh day of April 1859. — By me, 

H. Weightman, Curate.' 

^Mt is therefore not correct to say that ^ estrangements which 
had been slowly growing came to a crisis towards the end of 
1813.' The date of the above certificate is conclusive on the 
point. The second marriage could not have taken place under 
such circumstances. Divorce would have been better for both 
parties, and the dissolution of the first marriage could have 
been easily obtained in Scotland. There was no estrangement, 
no shadow of a thought of separation, till Shelley became ac- 
quainted, not long after his second marriage, with the lady who 
was subsequently his second wife. The separation did not take 
place by mutual consent. I cannot think that Shelley ever s-o 
represented it. He never did so to me : and the account which 
Harriet gave me of the entire proceedings was decidedly con- 
tradictory of any such supposition. He might well have said, 
after first seeing ]\Iary Wollstonecraft Godwin, ' Ut vidi ! ut 
peril I ' Nothing that I ever read in tale or history could pre- 
sent a more striking image of a sudden, violent, irresistible, un- 
controllable passion, than that under which I found him labor- 
ing when, at his request, I went up from the country to call 
on him in London. Between his old feelings towards Harriet, 
fro7?i whojji he was not then separated^ and his new passion for 
Mary he showed in his looks, in his gestures, in his speech, the 
state of a mind * suffering, like a little kingdom, the nature of 



HARRIET SHELLEY. 199 

an insurrection.* His eyes were bloodshot, his hair and dress 
disordered. He caught up a bottle of laudanum, and said, ' I 
never part from this.' He added, ' I am always repeating to 
myself your lines from Sophocles : 

Man's happiest lot is not to be : 

And when we tread life's thorny steep. 
Most blest are they, who earliest free, 

Descend to death's eternal sleep.' 

Again he said, more calmly, ' Every one who knows me must 
know that the partner of my life should be one who can feel 
poetry and understand philosophy. Harriet is a noble animal, 
but she can do neither.' I said, ' It always appeared to me 
that you were very fond of Harriet.' Without affirming or 
denying this, he answered, ' But you did not know how I hated 
her sister.' The term ' noble animal' he applied to his wife, in 
conversation with another friend now living, intimating that the 
nobleness which he thus ascribed to her would induce her to 
acquiesce in the inevitable transfer of his affections to their new 
shrine. She did not so acquiesce, and he cut the Gordianknot 
of the difficulty by leaving England with Miss Godwin* on the 
28th of July, 1 8 14. Shortly after this 1 received a letter from 
Harriet, wishing to see me. I called on her at her father's 
house in Chapel street, Grosvenor square. She then gave me 
her own account of the transaction, which, as I have said, de- 
cidedly contradicted the supposition of anything like separation 
by mutual consent. She at the same time gave me a descrip- 
tion, by no means flattering, of Shelley's new love, whom I had 
not then seen. I said, ' If you have described her correctly, 
what could he see in her ? ' ' Nothing,' she said, ' but that her 
name was Mary, and not only Mary, but Mary Wollstonecraft.' 
The lady had nevertheless great personal and intellectual at- 
tractions, though it is not to be wondered at that Harriet could 
not see them. I feel it due to the memory of Harriet to state 
my most decided conviction that her conduct as a wife was as 
pure, as true, as absolutely faultless, as that of any who for 
such conduct are held most in honor." Thus wrote Mr. Pea- 
cock in i860. 



200 ^^^ CY B YSSHE SHELLE K 

He proves pretty conclusively, I think, that no serious 
estrangements existed between Shelley and Harriet in 1813, or 
that if any did exist they were healed by their second marriage, 
concerning which we cannot but ask if Lady Shelley was aware 
that it had occurred when she was writing her Memorials f She 
does not refer to it in the first edition of that work, nor does 
she refer to it in her last edition, which was published only last 
year. One would think that her Ladyship must have heard of 
it in seventeen years ! Clearly she does not share Mr. Peacock's 
enthusiasm for the memory of her husband's father's first wife. 
^^ Few are now living who remember Harriet Shelley," Mr. 
Peacock continues. '^ I remember 'her well, and will describe 
her to the best of my recollection. She had a good figure, light, 
active, and graceful. Her features were regular and well-pro- 
portioned. Her hair was light brown, and dressed with taste 
and simplicity. In her dress she was truly simplex munditiis. 
Her complexion was beautifully transparent ; the tint of the 
blush rose shining through the lily. The tone of her voice was 
pleasant ; her speech the essence of frankness and cordiality ; 
her spirits always cheerful ; her laugh spontaneous, hearty, and 
joyous. She was well educated. She read agreeably and in- 
telligently. She wrote only letters, but she wrote them well. 
Her manners were good ; and her whole aspect and demeanor 
such manifest emanations of pure and truthful nature, that to 
be once in her company was to know her thoroughly. She was 
fond of her husband, and accommodated herself in every way to 
his tastes. If they mixed in society, she adorned it ; if they 
lived in retirement, she was satisfied ; if they travelled, she en- 
joyed the change of scene." It is a pity that this '* noble 
animal " could not feel poetry and understand philosophy ! Mr. 
Garnett, who writes in the interest of the Shelley family, under- 
takes to show a silver lining to this dark cloud upon the poet's 
fame, and refers to certain documents in possession of the fam- 
ily which refute ]Mr. Peacock's assertions. *^ The time can- 
not be distant when these assertions must be refuted by the 
publication of documents hitherto withheld, and Shelley's family 
have doubted whether it be worth which to anticipate it." So 



HARRIET SHELLEY. 20I 

he wrote in 1862, and Lady Shelley wrote to the same effect in 
1874, ^' The time, however, has not arrived at which it is de- 
sirable that facts already known to the poet's own family and a 
few private friends should be disclosed. Now, as when this 
book was first issued, we feel confident that the more is really 
known the more will all mists of false aspersion and miscon- 
ception clear away Shelley's memory ; and now, as then, we 
feel that we obey the wishes of the dead in keeping silence of 
all beyond what here is told." This is pretty writing, the an- 
swer to which is, that the reputation of a famous poet is at stake, 
and that the papers which are to clear it ought not to be with- 
held from the world forever. Sixty-two years have passed since 
he abandoned the wife of his youth, and fifty-four years since 
he went to his watery grave — how much longer time must elapse 
before his memory is vindicated? Mr. Peacock doubted the 
existence of the wonderful papers in question, but Mr. Garnett 
declares that he has seen them, and that they ^' demonstrate 
that Shelley and Harriet corresponded, both during the former's 
absence on the Continent and afterwards ; that he visited her 
repeatedly after his return to England ; that so late, at least, 
as December, 18 14, he continued to take an affectionate inter- 
est in her, gave her much good advice, or what he regarded as 
such, and exposed himself to no little inconvenience and danger 
of misconstruction in a generous endeavor to promote her wel- 
fare ; that previous to his departure from England he had given 
instructions that deeds should be prepared and a settlement 
executed for her benefit." It is difficult to put one's self, at 
least I find it difficult to put myself, in the place of Shelley, or 
indeed of either of the other combatants in this triangular duel 
of love and sorrow : I cannot understand the morals of the 
Divine Poet, as Mr. Hogg calls him, and his Divine Mistress, 
and the want of spirit in his twice-wedded, abandoned wife. 
These good people are beyond my comprehension. There was 
something comical about them, too, if Mr. Rossetti was cor- 
rectly informed. ^' I am told," he writes, '* that, at some time 
after the return of Shelley and IV^ary from the Continent in the 
year 18 14, he consulted a legal friend with a view to intro- 

9* 



202 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, 

ducing Harriet into his household as a permanent inmate — it is 
to be presumed, as strictly and solely a friend of the connubial 
pair, Mary and himself; and it required some little cogency 
of demonstration on the part of the lawyer to convince the pri- 
meval intellect of Shelley that such an arrangement had its 
weak side." The Shelleyan life of Harriet was divided into 
two episodes. The first consisted of less than three years of 
marriage, the last of a little more than tw^o years of desertion. 
Hogg and others have furnished, as we have seen, materials for 
a history of the one ; the other is wrapt in obscurity. Mr. 
Rossetti shall tell us the little that is known about it : '' The 
exact course of Harriet's life since June, 1814, has never been 
accurately disclosed ; and there is plenty of reason why, even 
if one had at command (which I have not) details as yet unpub- 
lished, one should hesitate to bring them forward. I shall con- 
fine myself to producing the most definite statement yet made on 
the subject — that of Mr. Thornton Hunt ; omitting only one un- 
pleasant expression, which I have reason (from two independent 
and unbiassed sources of information) to suppose overcharged. 
He unreservedly allows, with other biographers, that there 
was nothing to censure in Harriet's conjugal conduct before 
the separation ; ' but subsequently she forfeited her claims 
to a return, even in the eye of the law. If she left [Shelley*], 
it would appear that she herself was deserted in turn by a man 
in a very humble grade of life, and it was in consequence of 
this desertion that she killed herself.' The same author says 
that, before this event, Mr. Westbrook's faculties had begun 
to fail ; he had treated Harriet with harshness, ' and she was 
driven from the paternal roof.t This Shelley did not know at 
the time.' Another writer affirms that Harriet — poor, uncared- 
for young creature — suffered great privations, and sank to the 

* I do not see the force of this expression. It is certain, in one sense, that Harriet 
did leave Shelley ; and equally certain that (to say the very least) her leaving him was 
less of a voluntary act on her part than his leaving her was on his. 

t ''The immediate cause of her death was that her fat'aer's door was shut against 
her, though he had at first sheltered her and her children. This was done by order 
of her sister, who would not allow Harriet access to the bed-side of her dying father." — 
PatiL 



HARRIET SHELLEY. 



203 



lowest grade of misery. DeOuincey says she was stung by cal- 
umnies incidental to the position of a woman separated from 
her husband, and v/as oppressed by the lonesomeness of her 
abode — which seems to be rather a vague version of the facts. 
In any case we will be very little inclined to cast stones at the 
forlorn woman who sought and found an early cleansing in the 
waters of death — a final refuge from all the pangs of desertion 
or of self-scorn. I find nothing to suggest otherwise than that 
Shelley had lost sight of Harriet for several months preceding 
her suicide ; though it might seem natural to suppose that he 
continued to keep up some sort of knowledge just how she went 
on, at least of the state of his young children lanthe and Charles. 
At all events, be he blameworthy or not in the original matter 
of the separation, or on the ground of recent obliviousness of 
Harriet or his children, it is an ascertained fact that her suicide 
was in no way immediately connected with any act or default of 
his, but with a train of circumstances for which the responsibility 
lay with Harriet herself, or had to be divided between her and 
the antecedent conditions of various kinds." The end came 
before she was twenty-two, when she drowned herself in the 
Serpentine. Mr. Peacock thinks it was in December, 1816 ; but 
he was mistaken. Mr. Rossetti says it was in November of 
that year, and fixes the date as the loth, on the authority of an 
American edition of Shelley's works. I fixed upon the 9th my- 
self, fourteen years ago, I forget now on what authority.* On 
one of these days the body of Harriet Shelley was borne to the 
house of her father in Chapel street, and intelligence of her 
death was sent to Shelley, who was at Bath, Mr. Rossetti thinks. 
If so, he did not remain long, for by the 19th of November he 
was at Marlow, whence he wrote to Godwin. No biographer 
of Shelley, so far as I am aware, has ever seen the following 
letter, which was formerly in my possession. It was sealed with 
a black seal. The wax had not taken sharply, but as far as I 

* [Mr. Paul agrees with me in thinking that Harriet drowned herself on the 9th of 
November, but says that the body was not found till December loth, and that God- 
win received a letter on the subject from Shelley on the i6th. That he is mistaken in 
regard to the two dates last named is evident from the letter of Shelley's referred 
to above. — SA 



204 ^^^ CY B YSSHE SHELLE Y, 

could make out it contained the impression of some mythologi- 
cal figure, apparently a Hindu goddess, rampant on a barge, 
or boat, with a peacock's tail, and a dagger in her hand. The 
post-mark was ' Marlow, Nov. 19, 1816.' 



(( 6 



My dear Sir " Marlow, Wednesday morning. 

In the legend of St. Colombanus we are told that he 
performed a miracle by hanging his garment on a sunbeam. 

" ' I, too, have tried to discover a ray of light to fasten hope 
on it. The casualties of this life come on like waves, one suc- 
ceeding the other. We may escape the heavy roll of the 
mighty ocean, and be wrecked on the still, smooth waters of 
the land-locked bay. We dread the storm and the hurricane, 
and forget how many have perished within sight of shore. 
However the human mind may have a natural desire to blot 
out from memory objects that are hopeless, oblivion does not 
always descend upon the sorrowing soul. How much in every 
man's heart dies away unuttered ! How many chords of the 
lyre in the poet's heart have been dumb in the world's ear ! I 
am bowed down with grief, though relieved of part of the load 
which the sad event has brought upon me ; yet sufficient anx- 
iety remains on my mind to give me ample subject for thought 
and sorrowful reflection. With how many garlands we can 
beautify the tomb ! If we begin betimes we can learn to make 
the prospect of the grave the most seductive of human visions ; 
by little and little we hive therein all the most pleasing of our 
dreams. Surely if any spot in the world be sacred, it is that 
in which grief ceases, and from which, if the voice within 
our hearts mocks us not with an everlasting lie, we spring 
upon the untiring wings of a painless and seraphic life, 
those we love around, our nature, universal intelligence, our 
atmosphere, eternal love. Mary sends kisses. Believe me 
ever yours. 

^^^P. B. Shelley.'" 

The epilogue to this tragedy was "spoken on the 30th of De- 
cember, 1816. Six days before that time Godwin wrote a 



MISS JANE CLAIRMONT. 20$ 

letter to his daughter, which, Mr. Paul says, was the first that 
had passed between them since she left her home. Godwin 
kept a diary, and a singular one it was. She is carefully 
described in the diary as M. W, G. Shelley's second mar- 
riage took place on Monday, December 30 ; the entries relat- 
ing to it in Godwin's diary are extremely curious, as though 
intended to mislead any one who might, without sufficient in- 
formation, glance at his book. It is probable that the diary in 
use during the year always lay on his desk, obvious to prying 
eyes, while those not in use were locked away. However this 
may be, the entries are as follows : — 

'' Der. 29, Su, Mandeville ca la. P. B. S. and M. W. G. 
dine and sup. 
'' 30, M, Write to Hume. Call on Mildred w. P. B. S., 
M. W. G., and M. J. ; they dine and sup ; 
tea Constable's w. Wells, Wallace, Patrick, 
and Miss C. 
See No. XVIH. infra pag ult, 
^^31, Tu, They breakfast, dine, and sup. Holinshead, 
Ric. iii." 

On turning to the last page of Diary, vol. xviii., the last but 
one used, and containing entries of two years before the pres- 
ent date, the words ^' Call on Mildred" are explained. On 
the blank page at the end of that volume is written : — 

^^ Percy Bysshe Shelley married to Mary Wollstonecraft 
Godwin at St. Mildred's Church, Bread Street, Dec. 30, 18 16. 
*^ Hay don. Curate, 
*' Spire, Clerk, 
^^ Present — William Godwin. 

^' Mary Jane Godwin."] 

Miss Jane Clairmont. 
[Mr. Percy Bysshe Shelley, Miss Mary Wollstonecraft God- 



2o6 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, 

win, and Miss Jane Clairmont returned to England in Septem- 
ber, 1 8 14. In the beginning of r^Iay, 18 16, the same party, 
with the addition of a child, a httle boy named WilUam which 
Miss Godwin had borne to Mr. Shelley, departed for the Con- 
tinent again. They reached Sicheron near Geneva, on the 
17th of May. ^^ On the 25th, Lord Byron with his travelling 
physician, Dr. Polidori, arrived at the same hotel; and the 
two parties encountered on the 27th, if not before." His 
Lordship had been abandoned by his wife about four months 
earlier, and was out of humor with his countrymen, but willing 
to be pleased with his countrywomen, as his admirers well 
remember. Mr. Rosetti shall tell the story of one of the 
latter. '' Byron and Shelley had not previously met ; they now 
found themselves in daily and intimate intercourse. One of 
the Shelley party, however. Miss Clairmont, was already known 
to Byron, for she had, not long before, called upon him as 
connected with the management of Drury Lane Theatre, and 
had sought an engagement on the stage, which did not take 
effect. Byron possibly — indeed, probably — had then admired 
her ; if not, he did so now. The result was the birth, on the 
following January, of the daughter known to Byronic biogra- 
phers as Allegra, or Alba. Shelley and Mary knew nothing of 
this fleeting outburst of passion at the time, and were by no 
means pleased when its results became apparent. But they 
acted with perfect good feeling, and did everything for Allegra 
and her mother. For the latter, Byron, from first to last, did 
nothing ; a shameful blot on his honor, unless, indeed, we sur- 
mise that neither ]Miss Clairmont nor her friends would accede 
to any proffer on his part." The Shelley party returned to 
England in September. In the spring of 181 8 Shelley and 
his wife and two children, and Miss Clairmont and Lord 
Byron's child, left England for Italy, and, as Mr. Rosetti 
puts it, the archangelic feet and brain and heart were 
never again to be repelled by that grudging and unwitting 
step-mother. They proceeded to Milan, and Allegra was 
sent on to her noble papa at Venice. Thus much about Miss 
Clairmont and the whereabouts of the Shellevs. And now 



WORDSWORTH'S OPINION OF SHELLEY. 20/ 

Mr. Trelawney and his mingled recollections of Shelley 
Byron.] 



for M.. ... 
and Byron.] 



Wordsworth's Opinion of Shelley. 

In the summer of 1 819 I was at Ouchy, a village on the 
margin of the lake of Geneva, in the Canton de Vaux. The 
most intelligent person I could find in the neighborhood to 
talk to, was a young bookseller at Lausanne, educated at a 
German University ; he was familiar with the works of many 
most distinguished writers ; his reading was not confined, as 
it generally is with men of his craft, to catalogues and indexes, 
for he was an earnest student, and loved literature more than 
lucre. 

As Lausanne is one of the inland harbors of refuge in which 
wanderers from all countries seek shelter, his shelves contained 
works in all languages ; he was a good linguist, and read the 
most attractive of them. '^ The elevation of minds," he said, 
*' was more important than the height of mountains (I was 
looking at a scale of the latter), and books are the standards to 
measure them by." He used to translate for me passages 
from the works of Schiller, Kant, Goethe, and others, and 
write comments on their paradoxical, mystical, and metaphysi- 
cal theories. One morning I saw my friend sitting under the 
acacias on the terrace in front of the house in which Gibbon 
had lived, and where he wrote the' ^' Decline and Fall." He 
said, '' I am trying to sharpen my wits in this pungent air 
which gave such a keen edge to the great historian, so that I 
may fathom this book. Your modern poets, Byron, Scott, and 
Moore, I can read and understand as I walk along, but I have 
got hold of a book by one now that makes me stop to take 
breath and think." It was Shelley's ''Queen Mab." As I 
had never heard that name or title, I asked how he got the 
volume. '' With a lot of new books in English, which I took 
in exchange for old French ones. Not knowing the names of 
the authors, I might not have looked into them, had not a 
pampered, prying priest smelt this one in my lumber-room, 
and, after a brief glance at the notes, exploded in wrath. 



2o8 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 

shouting out ^ Infidel, jacobin leveller : nothing can stop this 
spread of blasphemy but the stake and the fagot ; the world is 
retrograding into accursed heathenism and universal anarchy ! ^ 
When the priest had departed, I took up the small book he 
had thrown down, saying, ' Surely there must be something 
here worth tasting.' You know the proverb ^ No*person throws 
a stone at a tree that does not bear fruit.' " 

^' Priests do not," I answered ; '* so I, too, must have a bite 
of the forbidden fruit. What do you think of it ? " 

'* To my taste," said the bookseller, '^ the fruit is crude, but 
well flavored ; it requires a strong stomach to digest it ; the 
writer is an enthusiast, and has the true spirit of a poet ; he 
aims at regenerating, not like Byron and Moore, levelling man- 
kind. They say he is but a boy, and this his first offering : if 
that be true, we shall hear of him again." 

Some days after this conversation I walked to Lausanne, to 
breakfast at the hotel with an old friend. Captain Daniel 
Roberts, of the Navy. He was out, sketching, but presently 
came in accompanied by two English ladies, with whom he had 
made acquaintance whilst drawing, and whom he brought to 
our hotel. The husband of one of them soon followed. I 
saw by their utilitarian garb, as well as by the blisters and 
blotches on their cheeks, lips, and noses, that they were 
pedestrian tourists, fresh from the snow-covered mountains, 
the blazing sun and frosty a*ir having acted on their unseasoned 
skins, as boiling water does on the lobster, by dyeing his dark 
coat scarlet. The man was evidently a denizen of the north, 
his accent harsh, skin white, of an angular and bony build, 
and self-confident and dogmatic in his opinions. The precision 
and quaintness of his language, as w^ellashis eccentric remarks 
on common things, stimulated my mind. Our icy islanders 
thaw rapidly when they have drifted into warmer latitudes : 
broken loose from its anti-social system, mystic casts, coteries, 
sets, and sects, they lay aside their purse-proud tuft-hunting, 
and toadying ways, and are very apt to run riot in the enjoy- 
ment of all their senses. Besides, we are compelled to talk in 
strange company, if not from good breeding, to prove our 



WORDSWORTH'S OPINION OF SHELLEY, 



209 



breed, as the gift of speech is often our principal if not sole 
distinction from the rest of the brute animals. 

To return to our breakfast. The travellers, flushed with 
health, delighted with their excursion, and with appetites 
earned by bodily and mental activity, were in such high spirits, 
that Roberts and I caught the infection of their mirth ; we 
talked as loud and fast as if under the exhilarating influence of 
champagne, instead of such a sedative compound as cafe au 
lait. I can rescue nothing out of oblivion but a few last 
words. The stranger expressed his disgust at the introduction 
of carriages into the mountain districts of Switzerland, and at 
the old fogies who used them. 

" As to the arbitrary, pitiless, Godless wretches," he ex- 
claimed, '^ who have removed nature's landmarks by cutting 
roads through Alps and Apennines, until all things are reduced 
to the same dead level, they will be arraigned hereafter with 
the unjust ; they have robbed the best specimens of what men 
should be, of their freeholds in the mountains ; the eagle, 
the black cock, and the red deer, they have tamed or exter- 
minated. The lover of nature can nowhere find a solitary 
nook to contemplate her beauties. Yesterday," he con- 
tinued, '^ at the break of day, I scaled the most rugged 
height within my reach ; it looked inaccessible ; this pleasant 
delusion was quickly dispelled ; I was rudely startled out 
of a deep reverie by the accursed jarring, jingling, and 
rumbling of a caleche, and harsh voices that drowned the tor- 
rent's fall." 

The stranger, now hearing a commotion in the street, sprang 
on his feet, looked out of the window, and rang the bell 
violently. 

*^ Waiter," he said, ^Ms that our carriage? Why did you 
•not tell us ? Come, lasses, be stirring, the freshness of the 
day is gone. You may rejoice in not having to walk ; there is 
a chance of saving the remnants of skin the sun has left on 
our chins and noses, — to-day we shall be stewed instead of 
barbecued." 

On their leaving the room to get ready for their journey, my 



2IO PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, 

friend Roberts told me the strangers were the poet Words- 
worth, his wife, and sister. 

Who could have divined this ? I could see no trace, in the 
hard features and weather-stained brow of the outer-man, of 
the divinity within him. In a few minutes the travellers reap- 
peared ; we cordially shook hands, and agreed to meet again 
at Geneva. Now that I knew that I was talking to one of the 
veterans of the gentle craft, as there was no time to waste in 
idle ceremony, I asked him abruptly what he thought of Shelley 
as a poet ? 

*^ Nothing," he replied, as abruptly. 

Seeing my surprise, he added, '^ A poet who has not pro- 
duced a good poem before he is twenty-five, we may conclude 
cannot, and never will do so." 

'^ The Cenci ! " I said eagerly. 

^' Won't do," he replied, shaking his head, as he got into 
the carriage ; a rough-coated Scotch terrier followed him. 

^^This hairy fellow is our flea-trap," he shouted out, as they 
started off. 

When I recovered from the shock of having heard the harsh 
sentence passed by an elder bard on a younger brother of the 
Muses, I exclaimed, 

'' After all, poets are but earth. It is the old story, — Envy — 
Cain and Abel. Professions, sects, and communities in 
general, right or wrong, hold together, men of the pen ex- 
cepted ; if one of their guild is worsted in the battle, they do 
as the rooks do by their inky brothers, fly from him, cawing 
and screaming ; if they don't fire the shot, they sound the 
bugle to charge." 

I did not then know that the full-fledged author never reads 
the writings of his contemporaries, except to cut them up in a 
review, — that being a work of love. In after-years, Shelley 
being dead, Wordsworth confessed this fact ; he was then in- 
duced to read some of Shelley's poems, and admitted that 
Shelley was the greatest master of harmonious verse in our 
modern literature. . 



MR, WILLIAMS' DESCRIPTION OF SHELLEY. 21I 

Mr. Williams' Description of Shelley. 

Shortly after I went to Geneva. In the largest country- 
house (Plangeau) near that city lived a friend of mine, a Cor- 
nish baronet, a good specimen of the old school ; well read, 
and polished by long intercourse with intelligent men of many 
nations. He retained a custom of the old barons, now obso- 
lete, — his dining-hall was open to all his friends ; you were 
welcomed at his table as often as it suited you to go there, 
without the ceremony of inconvenient invitations. 

At this truly hospitable house, I first saw three young men, 
recently returned from India. They lived together at a pretty 
villa {Maison aux Grenades^ signifying the House of Pome- 
granates), situated on the shores of the lake, and at an easy 
walk from the city of Geneva and the baronet's. Their names 
were George Jervoice, of the Madras Artillery ; E. E. Williams, 
and Thomas Medwin, the two last, lieutenants on half-pay, 
late of the 8th Dragoons.* Medwin was the chief medium that 
impressed us with a desire to know Shelley ; he had known 
him from childhood ; he talked of nothing but the inspired 
boy, his virtues and his sufferings, so that, irrespective of his 
genius, we all longed to know him. From all I could gather 
from him, Shelley lived as he wrote, the life of a true poet, 
loving solitude, but by no means a cynic. In the two or three 
months I was at Geneva, I passed many agreeable days at the 
two villas I have mentioned. Late in the autumn I was unex- 
pectedly called to England ; Jervoice and Medwin went to Italy ; 
the Williams's determined on passing the winter at Chalons 
sur Saone. I offered to drive them there, in a light Swiss car- 
riage of my own ; and in the spring to rejoin them, and to go 
on to Italy together in pursuit of Shelley. 

Human animals can only endure a limited amount of pain or 
pleasure, excess of either is followed by insensibility. The 
Williams's, satiated with felicity at their charming villa on the 
cheerful lake of Geneva, resolved to leave it, and see how long 
they could exist deprived of everything they had been accus- 
tomed to. With such an object, a French provincial town was 



212 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, 

just the place to try the experiment. Chalons sur Saone was 
decided on. We commenced our journey in November, in an 
open carriage. After four days' drive through wind, rain, and 
mud, we arrived at Chalons in a sorry plight. The immense 
plain which surrounded the town was flooded ; we took up our 
quarters at an hotel on the slimy banks of the Saone. What a 
contrast to the villa of pomegranates we had left, we all thought 
' — but, said nothing. 

When I left them by the malle poste, on my way to Paris, I 
felt as a man should feel when, stranded on a barren rock, he 
seizes the only boat and pushes off to the nearest land; leaving 
his forlorn comrades to perish miserably. After a course of 
spare diet of soup maigre, bouilli, sour wine, and solitary con- 
finement had restored their senses, they departed in the spring 
for the south, and never looked behind them until they had 
crossed the Alps. They went direct to the Shelleys ; and 
amongst Williams's letters I find his first impressions of the 
poet, which I here transcribe : — 

My dear TrELAWNY, Pisa, April, 1821. 

W^e purpose wintering in Florence, and sheltering ourselves 
from the summer heat at a castle of a place, called Villa 
Poschi, at Pugnano, two leagues from hence, where, with 
Shelley for a companion, I promise myself a great deal of 
pleasure, sauntering in the shady retreats of the olive and 
chestnut woods that grow above our heads up the hill sides. 
He has a small boat building, only ten or twelve feet long, to 
go adventuring, as he calls it, up the many little rivers and 
canals that intersect this part of Italy ; some of which pass 
through the most beautiful scenery imaginable, winding among 
the terraced gardens at the base of the neighboring mountains, 
and opening into such lakes as Beintina, etc. 

Shelley is certainly a man of most astonishing genius in ap- 
pearance, extraordinarily young, of manners mild and amiable, 
but withal full of life and fun. His wonderful command of 
language, and the ease with which he speaks on what are gen- 
erally considered abstruse subjects, are striking ; in short, his 



MR. WILLIAMS' DESCRIPTION OF SHELLEY. 213 

ordinary conversation is akin to poetry, for he sees things in 
the most singular and pleasing lights : if he wrote as he talked, 
he would be popular enough. Lord Byron and others think 
him by far the most imaginative poet of the day. The style 
of his lordship's letters to him is quite that of a pupil, such as 
asking his opinion, and demanding his advice on certain 
points, etc. I must tell you, that the idea of the tragedy of 
Manfred, and many of the philosophical, or rather metaphysi- 
cal, notions interwoven in the composition of the fourth Canto 
of Childe Harold, afe of his suggestion ; but this, of course, 
is between ourselves. A few nights ago I nearly put an end to 
the Poet and myself. We went to Leghorn, to see after the 
Httle boat, and, as the wind blew excessively hard, and fair, we 
resolved upon returning to Pisa in her, and accordingly 
started with a huge sail, and at 10 o'clock P.M. capsized her. 
I commenced this letter yesterday morning, but was pre- 
vented from continuing ii by the very person of whom I am 
speaking, who, having heard me complain of a pain in my 
chest since the time of our ducking, brought with him a doc- 
tor, and I am now wTiting to you in bed, with a blister on the 
part supposed to be affected. I am ordered to lie still and try 
to sleep, but I prefer sitting up and bringing this sheet to a 
conclusion. A General R. , an Englishman, has been poisoned 
by his daughter and her paramour, a Venetian servant, by 
small doses of arsenic, so that the days of the Cenci are re- 
vived, with this difference, that crimes seem to strengthen with 
keeping. Poor Beatrice was driven to parricide by long and 
unendurable outrages : in this last case, the parent was sacri- 
ficed by the lowest of human passions, the basis of many 
crimes. By the by, talking of Beatrice and the Cenci, I have 
a horrid history to tell you of that unhappy girl, that it is im- 
possible to put on paper : you will not wonder at the act, but 
admire the virtue (an odd expression, you will perhaps think) 
that inspired the blow. Adieu. Jane desires to be very kindly 
remembered, and believe me. 

Very sincerely yours, 

E. E. Williams. 



214 



PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 



*' Come in. Shelley." 

I was not accustomed to the town life I was then leading, 
and' became as tired of society as to^\Tlfolks are of solitude. 
The great evil in solitude is, that your brain lies idle ; your 
muscles expand by exercise, and your wits contract from the 
want of it. 

To obviate this evil, and maintain the just equilibrium 
between the body and the brain, I determined to pass the 
coming winter in the vrildest part of Italy, the Maremma, in 
the midst of the marshes and malaria, with my friends Roberts 
and Williams ; keen sportsmen both — that part of the country 
being well stocked with woodcocks and wild fowl. For this 
purpose, I shipped an ample supply of dogs, guns, and other 
implements of the chase to Leghorn. For the exercise of my 
brain, I proposed passing my summer with Shelley and Byron, 
boating in the Mediterranean. After completing my arrange- 
ments, I started in the autumn by the French malle-post, from 
Paris to Chalons, regained possession of the horse and cabrio- 
let I had left with Williams, and drove myself to Geneva, 
where Roberts was waiting for me. After a short delay, I con- 
tinued my journey south with Roberts in my Swdss carriage, 
so that we could go on or stop, where and when we pleased. 
By our method of travelling, we could sketch, shoot, fish, and 
observe ever\'thing at our leisure. If our progress was slow, it 
was most pleasant. We crossed Z^Iount Cenis, and in due 
course arrived at Genoa. After a long stop at that city of 
painted palaces, anxious to see the Poet, I drove to Pisa alone. 
I arrived late, and after putting up my horse at the inn and 
dining, hastened to the Tre Palazzi, on the Lung 'Arno, where 
the Shelleys and W^illiams's lived on different flats under the 
same roof, as is the custom on the Continent. The Wil- 
liams's received me in their earnest cordial manner ; we had a 
great deal to communicate to each other, and were in loud and 
animated conversation, when I was rather put out by observing 
in the passage near the open door, opposite to where I sat, a 
pair of glittering eyes steadily fixed on mine ; it was too dark 



COME IN, SHELLEY: 



!I5 



to make out whom they belonged to. With the acuteness of a 
woman, Mrs. WilKams's eyes followed the direction of mine, 
and going to the doorway, she laughingly said, 

'' Come in, Shelley, it's only our friend Tre just arrived." 

Swiftly gliding in, blushing like a girl, a tall thin stripling 
held out both his hands ; and although I could hardly believe 
as I looked at his flushed, feminine, and artless face that it 
could be the Poet, I returned his warm pressure. After the 
ordinary greetings and courtesies he sat down and listened. I 
was silent from astonishment : was it possible this mild-looking 
beardless boy could be the veritable monster at war with all 
the world ? — excommunicated by the Fathers of the Church, 
deprived of his civil rights by the fiat of a grim Lord Chan- 
cellor, discarded by every member of his family, and denounced 
by the rival sages of our literature as the founder of a Satanic 
school ? I could not believe it ; it must be a hoax. He was 
habited like a boy, in a black jacket and trousers, which he 
seemed to have outgrown, or his tailor, as is the custom, had 
most shamefully stinted him in his '' sizings." Mrs. Williams 
saw my embarrassment, and to relieve me asked Shelley what 
book he had in his hand ? His face brightened, and he an- 
swered briskly : 

'' Calderon's Magico Prodigioso, I am translating some pas- 
sages in it." 

" Oh, read it to us !" 

Shoved off from the shore of common-place incidents that 
could not interest him, and fairly launched on a theme that 
did, he instantly became oblivious of everything but the book 
in his hand. The masterly manner in which he analyzed the 
genius of the author, his lucid interpretation of the story, and 
the ease with which he translated into our language the most 
subtle and imaginative passages of the Spanish poet, were mar- 
vellous, as was his command of the two languages. After this 
touch of his quality I no longer doubted his identity ; a dead 
silence ensued ; looking up, I asked, 

'' Where is he ? " 



2i6 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 

Mrs. Williams said, ^' Who ? Shelley ? Oh, he comes and 
goes like a spirit, no one knows when or where." 

Presently he reappeared with ^^Irs. Shelley. She brought us 
back from the ideal world Shelley had left us in, to the real 
one, welcomed me to Italy, and asked me the news of London 
and Paris, the new^ books, operas, and bonnets, marriages, 
murders, and other marvels. The Poet vanished, and tea ap- 
peared. Mary Wollstonecraft (the authoress), the wife of 
William Godwin, died in 1797, in giving birth to their only 
child, Mary, married to the poet Shelley ; so that at the time I 
am speaking of Mrs. Shelley w^as twenty- four. Such a rare 
pedigree of genius was enough to interest me in her, irrespec- 
tive of her own merits as an authoress. The most striking fea- 
ture in her face was her calm, gray eyes ; she was rather under 
the English standard of woman's height, very fair and hght- 
haired, witty, social, and animated in the society of friends, 
though mournful in solitude ; like Shelley, though in a minor 
degree, she had the power of expressing her thoughts in varied 
and appropriate words, derived from familiarity with the works 
of our vigorous old writers. Neither of them used obsolete or 
foreign words. This command of our language struck me the 
more as contrasted with the scanty vocabulary used by ladies 
in society, in which a score of poor hackneyed phrases suffice 
to express all that is felt or considered proper to reveal. 

Shelley's Influence on Byron. 

At two o'clock on the following day, in company with Shelley, 
I crossed the Ponte Vecchio, and went on the Lung 'Arno to 
the Palazzo Lanfranchi, the residence of Lord Byron. We 
entered a large marble hall, ascended a giant staircase, passed 
through an equally large room over the hall, and were shown 
into a smaller apartment which had books and a billiard-table 
in it. A surly-looking bull-dog (Moretto) announced us, by 
growling, and the Pilgrim instantly advanced from an inner 
chamber, and stood before us. His halting gait was apparent, 
but he moved with quickness ; and although pale, he looked as 
fresh, vigorous, and animated as any man I ever saw. His 



SHELLEY'S INFLUENCE ON BYRON, 217 

pride, added to his having hved for many years alone, was the 
cause I suppose that he was embarrassed at first meeting with 
strangers ; this he tried to conceal by an affectation of ease. 
After the interchange of common-place question and answer, 
he regained his self-possession, and turning to Shelley, said, 

^^ As you are addicted to poesy, go and read the versicles I 
was delivered of last night, or rather this morning — that is, if 
you can. I am posed. I am getting scurrilous. There is a 
letter from Tom Moore ; read, you are blarneyed in it ironi- 
cally.'^ 

He then took a cue, and asked me to play billiards ; he 
struck the balls and moved about the table briskly, but neither 
played the game nor cared a rush about it, and chatted after 
this idle fashion : — 

'^ The purser of the frigate I went to Constantinople in called 
an officer scurrilous for alluding to his wig. Now, the day 
before I mount a wig — and I shall soon want one — I'll ride 
about with it on the pummel of my saddle, or stick it on my 
cane. 

" In that same frigate, near the Dardanelles, we nearly ran 
down an American trader with his cargo of notions. Our cap- 
tain, old Bathurst, hailed, and with the dignity of a lord, asked 
him where he came from, and the name of his ship. The 
Yankee captain bellowed, — 

'* ' You copper-bottomed sarpent, I guess you'll know when 
I've reported you to Congress.' " 

The surprise I expressed by my looks was not at what he 
said, but that he could register such trifles in his memory. Of 
course with other such small anecdotes, his great triumph at 
having swum from Sestos to Abydos was not forgotten. I had 
come prepared to see a solemn mystery, and so far as I could 
judge from the first act it seemed to me very like a solemn farce. 
I forgot that great actors when off the stage are dull dogs ; and 
that even the mighty Prospero, without his book and magic 
mantle, was but an ordinary mortal. At this juncture Shelley 
joined us ; he never laid aside his book and magic mantle ; he 
waved his wand, and Byron, after a faint show of defiance, 
10 



2i8 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 

stood mute ; his quick perception of the truth of Shelley's 
comments on his poem transfixed him, and Shelley's earnest- 
ness and just criticism held him captive. 

I was however struck with Byron's mental vivacity and won- 
derful memory ; he defended himself with a variety of illus- 
trations, precedents, and apt quotations from modern authori- 
ties, disputing Shelley's propositions, not by denying their 
truth as a whole, but in parts, and the subtle questions he put 
would have puzzled a less acute reasoner than the one he had 
to contend with. During this discussion I scanned the Pilgrim 
closely . 

In external appearance Byron realized that ideal standard 
with which imagination adorns genius. He was in the prime 
of life, thirty-five ; of middle height, five feet eight and a half 
inches ; regular features, without a stain or furrow on his pallid 
skin, his shoulders broad, chest open, body and limbs finely 
proportioned. His small, highly-finished head and curly hair, 
had an airy and graceful appearance from the massiveness and 
length of his throat : you saw his genius in his eyes and lips. 
In short. Nature could do little more than she had done for 
him, both in outward form and in the inward spirit she had 
given to animate it. But all these rare gifts to his jaundiced 
imagination only served to make his one personal defect (lame- 
ness) the more apparent, as a flaw is magnified in a diamond 
when polished ; and he brooded over that blemish as sensitive 
minds will brood until they magnify a wart into a wen. 

His lameness certainly helped to make him skeptical, cyni- 
cal, and savage. There was no peculiarity in his dress, it was 
adapted to the climate ; a tartan jacket braided, — he said it 
was the Gordon pattern, and that his mother was of that ilk. 
A blue velvet cap with a gold band, and very loose nankeen 
trousers, strapped down so as to cover his feet : his throat was 
not bare, as represented in drawings. At three o'clock, one of 
his servants announced that his horses were at the door, which 
broke off his discussion with Shelley, and we all followed him 
to the hall. At the outer door, we found three or four very 
ordinary-looking horses ; they had holsters on the saddles, and 



SHELLEY'S LNFLUENCE ON BYRON, 



219 



many other superfluous trappings, such as the Italians delight 
in, and Englishmen eschew. Shelley, and an Irish visitor just 
announced, mounted two of these sorry jades. I luckily had 
my own cattle. Byron got into a caliche, and did not mount 
his horse until we had cleared the gates of the town, to avoid, 
as he said, being stared at by the '' d — d Englishers," who 
generally congregated before his house on the Arno. After an 
hour or two of slow riding and lively talk, — for he was generally 
in good spirits when on horseback, — we stopped at a small 
podere on the roadside, and dismounting went into the house, 
in which we found a table with wine and cakes. From thence 
we proceeded into the vineyard at the back ; the servant brought 
two brace of pistols, a cane was stuck in the ground and a five 
paul-piece, the size of half-a-crown, placed in a slit at the top 
of the cane. Byron, Shelley, and I, fired at fifteen paces, and 
one of us generally hit the cane or the coin : our firing was 
pretty equal ; after five or six shots each, Byron pocketed the 
battered money and sauntered about the grounds. We then 
remounted. On our return homewards, Shelley urged Byron 
to complete something he had begun. Byron smiled and re- 
plied, 

^'John Murray, my patron and paymaster, says my plays 
won't act. I don't mind that, for I told him they were not 
written for the stage — but he adds, my poesy won't sell : that 
I do mind, for I have an ^ itching palm.' He urges me to re- 
sume my old ' Corsair style, to please the ladies.' " 

Shelley indignantly answered, 

*'That is very good logic for a bookseller, but not for an 
author : the shop interest is to supply the ephemeral demand 
of the day. It is not for him but you ' to put a ring in the 
monster's nose' to keep him from mischief.'^ 

Byron smiling at Shelley's warmth, said, 

'' John Murray is right, if not righteous : all I hav^e yet writ- 
ten has been for woman-kind ; you must wait until I am forty, 
their influence will then die a natural death, and I will show the 
men what I can do.'' 

Shelley replied, 



220 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, 

^' Do it now — write nothing but what your conviction of its 
truth inspires you to write ; you should give counsel to the 
wise, and not take it from the foolish. Time will reverse the 
judgment of the vulgar. Contemporary criticism only repre- 
sents the amount of ignorance genius has to contend with." 

I was then and afterwards pleased and surprised at Byron's 
passiveness and docility in listening to Shelley — but all who 
heard him felt the charm of his simple, earnest manner ; while 
Byron knew him to be exempt from the egotism, pedantry, cox- 
combry, and, more than all, the rivalry of authorship, and that 
he was the truest and most discriminating of his admirers. 

Byron, looking at the western sky, exclaimed, 

^^ Where is the green your friend the Laker talks such fustian 
about," meaning Coleridge — 

** * Gazing on the western sky, 

And its peculiar tint of yellow green.' 

Dejection : an Ode, 

^^ Who ever," asked Byron, ^^ saw a green sky ? " 

Shelley was silent, knowing that if he replied, Byron would 
give vent to his spleen. So I said, ^' The sky in England is 
oftener green than blue." 

"" Black, you mean," rejoined Byron ; and this discussion 
brought us to his door. 

As he was dismounting he mentioned two odd words that 
would rhyme. I observed on the felicity he had shown in this 
art, repeating a couplet out of Don Juan ; he was both pacified 
and pleased at this, and putting his hand on my horse's crest, 
observed, 

^' If you are curious in these matters, look in Swift. I will 
send you a volume ; he beats us all hollow, his rhymes are 
wonderful." 

And then we parted for that day, which I have been thus 
particular in recording, not only as it was the first of our ac- 
quaintance, but as containing as fair a sample as I can give of 
his appearance, ordinary habits, and conversation. 



THE SNAKE, 221 

The Snake. 

In his perverse and moody humors, Byron would give vent to 
his Satanic vein. After a long silence, one day on horseback, 
he began : — 

'' I have a conscience, although the world gives me no credit 
for it ; I am now repenting, not of the few sins I have com- 
mitted, but of the many I have not committed. There are 
things, too, we should not do, if they were not forbidden. My 
Don Juan was cast aside and almost forgotten, until I heard 
that the pharisaic synod in John Murray's back parlor had pro- 
nounced it as highly immoral, and unfit for publication. ' Be- 
cause thou art virtuous thinkest thou there shall be no more 
cakes and ale ? ' Now my brain is throbbing and must have 
vent. I opined gin was inspiration, but cant is stronger. To- 
day I had another letter warning me against the Snake (Shelley). 
He, alone, in this age of humbug, dares stem the current, as 
he did to-day the flooded Arno in his skiff, although I could 
not observe he made any progress. The attempt is better than 
being swept along as all the rest are, with the filthy garbage 
scoured from its banks." 

Taking advantage of this panegyric on Shelley I observed, 
he might do him a great service at little cost, by a friendly 
word or two in his next work, such as he had bestowed on au- 
thors of less merit. 

Assuming a knowing look, he continued, 

^* All trades have their mysteries ; if we crack up a popular 
author, he repays us in the same coin, principal and interest. 
A friend may have repaid money lent, — can't say any of mine 
have ; but who over heard of the interest being added thereto ? "- 

I rejoined, 

'^ By your own showing you are indebted to Shelley; some 
of his best verses are to express his admiration of your genius." 

*^Ay," he said, with a significant look, *' who reads them ? 
If we puffed the Snake, it might not turn out a profitable in- 
vestment. If he cast off the slough of his mystifying metaphy- 
sics, he would want no puffing." 



222 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 

Seeing I was not satisfied, he added, 

*' If we introduced Shelley to our readers, they might draw 
comparisons, and they are ' odorous.'' " 

After Shelley's death, Byron, in a letter to Moore, of the 2d 
of August, 1822, says, 

*^ There is another man gone, about whom the world was ill- 
naturedly, and ignorantly, and brutally mistaken. It will, 
perhaps, do him justice now^ when he can be no better for it." 

In a letter to Murray of an earlier date, he says, 

'' You were all mistaken about Shelley, who was, without ex- 
ception, the best and least selfish man I ever knew." 

And, again, he says, '' You are all mistaken about Shelley ; 
you do not know how mild, how tolerant, how good he was." 

What Byron says of the world, that it will, perhaps, do 
Shelley justice when he can be no better for it, is far more ap- 
plicable to himself. If the world erred, they did so in igno- 
rance ; Shelley was a myth to them. Byron had no such plea 
to offer, but he was neither just nor generous, and never drew 
his weapon to redress any wrongs but his own. 

In the annals of authors I cannot find one who wrote under 
so many discouragements as Shelley ; for even Bunyan's dun- 
geon walls echoed the cheers of hosts of zealous disciples on the 
outside, whereas Shelley could number his readers on his 
fingers. He said, "" I can only print my writings by stinting 
myself in food ! " Published, or sold openly, they were not. 

The utter loneliness in which he was condemned to pass the 
largest portion of his life would have paralyzed any brains less 
subtilized by genius than his were. Yet he was social and 
cheerful, and, although frugal himself, most liberal to others, 
while to serve a friend he was ever ready to make any sacrifice. 
It was, perhaps, fortunate be was known to so few, for those 
few kept him close shorn. He went to Ravenna in 1821 on 
Byron's business, and, writing to bis wife, makes this com- 
ment on the Pilgrim's asking him to execute a delicate com- 
mission : ^^ But it seems destined that I am always to have 
some active part in the affairs of everybody whom I approach." 
And so he had. 



THE SNAKE, 223 

Shelley, in his elegy on the death of Keats, gives this picture 
of himself : 

*"Midst others of less note, came one frail Form, 
A. phantom amongst men ; companionless 
As the last cloud of an expiring storm, 
Whose thunder is its knell ; he, as I guess, 
Had gazed on Nature's naked loveliness, 
Actaeon-like, and now he fled astray 
With feeble steps o'er the world's wilderness. 
And his own thoughts, along that rugged way. 
Pursued, like raging hounds, their father and their prey." 

Every day I passed some hours with Byron, and very often 
my evenings with Shelley and Williams, so that when my 
memory summons one of them to appear, the others are sure 
to follow in his wake. If Byron's reckless frankness and appar- 
ent cordiality warmed your feelings, his sensitiveness, irritabil- 
ity, and the perverseness of his temper, cooled them. I was 
not then thirty, and the exigences of my now full-blown vani- 
ties were unsated, and my credulity unexhausted. I believed 
in many things then, and believe in some now ; I could not 
sympathize with Byron, who believed in nothing. 

*^As for love, friendship, and your entiisamicsy ^^"^ said he, 
'^ they must run their course. If you are not hanged or drowned 
before you are forty, you will wonder at all the foolish things 
they have made you say and do, — as I do now." 

^' I will go over to the Shelleys," I answered, "' and hear their 
opinions on the subject." 

''' Ay, the Snake has fascinated you ; I am for making a man 
of the world of you ; they will mould you into a Frankenstein 
monster : so good-night ! " 

Goethe's Mephistopheles calls the serpent that tempted 
Eve, '^ My Aunt — the renowned snake ; " and as Shelley trans- 
lated and repeated passages of ^' Faust" — to, as he said, im- 
pregnate Byron's brain, — when he came to that passage, '^ My 
Aunt, the renowned snake," Byron said, '' Then you are her 
nephew," and henceforth he often called Shelley the Snake ; 
his bright eyes, slim figure, and noiseless movements, strength- 
ened, if it did not suggest, the comparison. Byron was the 



224 



PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 



real snake — a dangerous mischief-maker ; his wit or humor 
might force a grim smile, or hollow laugh, from the standers 
by, but they savored more of pain than playfulness, and made 
you dissatisfied with yourself and him. When I left his gloomy 
hall, and the echoes of the heavy iron -plated door died away, 
I could hardly refrain from shouting with joy as I hurried along 
the broad-flagged terrace which overhangs the pleasant river, 
cheered on my course by the cloudless sky, soft air, and fading 
light, which close an Italian day. 

Shelley's Aversion to Company. 

After a hasty dinner at my albergo, I hastened along the 
Arno to the hospitable and cheerful abode of the Shelleys. 
There I found those sympathies and sentiments which the 
Pilgrim denounced as illusions believed in as the only realities. 

Shelley's mental activity was infectious ; he kept your brain 
in constant action. Its effect on his comrade was very striking. 
Williams gave up all his accustomed sports for books, and the 
bettering of his mind ; he had excellent natural ability ; and 
the Poet delighted to see the seeds he had sown, germinating. 
Shelley said he was the sparrow educating the young of the 
cuckoo. After a protracted labor, Ned was delivered of a five- 
act play. Shelley was sanguine that his pupil would succeed 
as a dramatic writer. One morning I was in Mrs. Williams's 
drawing-room, by appointment, to hear Ned read an act of his 
drama. I sat with an aspect as caustic as a critic who was to 
decide his fate. Whilst thus intent Shelley stood before us 
with a most woeful expression. 

Mrs. Williams started up, exclaiming, ^^ What's the matter, 
Percy ? " 

^' INIary has threatened me." 

*' Threatened you with what ? " 

He looked mysterious and too agitated to reply. 

Mrs. Williams repeated, '^ With what? to box your ears ? " 

'^Oh, much worse than that; Mary says she will have a 
party ; there are English singers here, the Sinclairs, and she 
will ask them, and every one she or you know — oh, the horror ! '* 



SHELLEY AND BYRON CONTRASTED. 22$ 

We all burst into a laugh except his friend Ned. 

" It will kill me." 

^^ Music, kill you ! " said Mrs. Williams. '' Why, you have 
told me, you flatterer, that you loved music." 

^^ So I do. It's the company terrifies me. For pity go to 
Mary and intercede for me ; I will submit to any other species 
of torture than that of being bored to death by idle ladies and 
gentlemen." 

After various devices it was resolved that Ned Williams 
should wait upon the lady, — he being gifted with a silvery 
tongue, and sympathizing with the Poet in his dislike of fine 
ladies, — and see what he could do to avert the threatened in- 
vasion of the Poet's solitude. Meanwhile, Shelley remained in 
a state of restless ecstasy ; he could not even read or sit. Ned 
returned with a grave face ; the Poet stood as a criminal stands 
at the bar, whilst the solemn arbitrator of his fate decides it. 
*"' The lady," commenced Ned, has '^ set her heart on having a 
party, and will not be baulked ; " but, seeing the Poet's despair, 
he added, ''It is to be limited to those here assembled, and 
some of Count Gamba's family ; and instead of a musical feast 
• — as we have no souls — we are to have a dinner." The Poet 
hopped off, rejoicing, making a noise I should have thought 
whistling, but that he was ignorant of that accomplishment. 

Shelley and Byron Contrasted. 

I have seen Shelley and Byron in society, and the contrast 
was as marked as their characters. The former, not thinking 
of himself, was as much at ease as in his own home, omitting 
no occasion of obliging those whom he came in contact with, 
readily conversing with all or any who addressed him, irre- 
spective of age or rank, dress or address. To the first party I 
went with Byron, as we were on our road, he said, 

'' It's so long since I have been in English society, you must 
tell me what are their present customs. Does rank lead the 
way, or does the ambassadress pair us off into the dining-room ? 
Do they ask people to wine ? Do we exit with the women, or 
stick to our claret ? " 



226 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, 

On arriving, he was flushed, fussy, embarrassed, over cere- 
monious, and ill at ease, evidently thinking a great deal of him- 
self and very little of others. He had learnt his manners, as I 
have said, during the Regency, when society was more exclu- 
sive than even now, and consequently more vulgar. 

To know an author, personally, is too often but to destroy 
the illusion created by his works ; if you withdraw the veil of 
your idol's sanctuary, and see him in his night-cap, you dis- 
cover a querulous old crone, a sour pedant, a supercilious cox- 
comb, a servile tuft-hunter, a saucy snob, or, at best, an ordi- 
nary moital. Instead of the high-minded seeker after truth 
and abstract knowledge, with a nature too refined to bear the 
vulgarities of life, as we had imagined, we find him full of ego- 
tism and vanity, and eternally fretting and fuming about trifles. 
As a general rule, therefore, it is wise to avoid writers whose 
w^orks amuse or delight you, for wiien you see them they will 
delight you no more. Shelley was a grand exception to this 
rule. To form a just idea of his poetry, you should have wit- 
nessed his daily life ; his words and actions best illustrated his 
writings. If his glorious conception of Gods and men consti- 
tuted an atheist, I am afraid all that listened were little better. 
Sometimes he would run through a great work on science, con- 
dense the author's labored exposition, and by substituting 
simple words for the jargon of the schools, ma.ke the most ab- 
struse subject transparent. The cynic Byron acknowledged 
him to be the best and ablest man he had ever known. 

Shelley not a Swlmmer. 

The truth w^as, Shelley loved everything better than himself. 
Self-preservation is, they say, the first law of nature, with him 
it was the last ; and the only pain he ever gave his friends arose 
from the utter indifference with which he treated everything 
concerning himself. I was bathing one day in a deep pool in 
the Arno, and astonished the Poet by performing a series of 
aquatic gymnastics, which I had learnt from the natives of the 
South Seas. On my coming out, whilst dressing, Shelley said, 
mournfully, 



SHELLEY NOT A SWIMMER. 227 

^^ Why can't I swim, it seems so very easy ? " 

I answered, '' Because you think you can't. If you deter- 
mine, you will ; take a header off this bank, and when you rise 
turn on your back, you will float like a duck ; but you must 
reverse the arch in your spine, for it's now bent the wrong 
way." 

He doffed his jacket 'and trousers, kicked off his shoes and 
socks, and plunged in ; and there he lay stretched out on the 
bottom like a conger eel, not making the least effort or struggle 
to save himself. He would have been drowned if I had not 
instantly fished him out. When he recovered his breath, he 
said : 

^^ I always find the bottom of the well, and they say Truth 
lies there. In another minute I should have found it, and you 
would have found an empty shell. It is an easy way of getting 
rid of the body." 

*^ What would Mrs. Shelley have said to me if I had gone 
back with your empty cage ? " 

^' Don't tell Mary — not a word! " he rejoined, and then con- 
tinued, '' It's a great temptation ; in another minute, I might 
have been in another planet." 

'* But as you always find "the bottom," I observed, ^^ you 
might have sunk ' deeper than did ever plummet sound.' " 

" I am quite easy on that subject," said the Bard. " Death 
is the veil, which those who live call life : they sleep, and it is 
lifted. Intelligence should be imperishable ; the art of printing 
has made it so in this planet." 

'' Do you believe in the immortality of the spirit ? " 

He continued, '' Certainly not ; how can I ? We know noth- 
ing ; we have no evidence ; we cannot express our inmost 
thoughts. They are incomprehensible even to ourselves." 

" Why," I asked, '' do you call yourself an atheist ? it anni- 
hilates you in this world." 

'' It is a word of abuse to stop discussion, a painted devil to 
frighten the foolish, a threat to intimidate the wise and good. 
I used it to express my abhorrence of superstition ; I took up 
the word, as a knight took up a gauntlet, in defiance of injus- 



228 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 

tice. The delusions of Christianity are fatal to genius and ori- 
ginality : they limit thought." 

Shelley's Forgetfulness. 

Shelley's thirst for knowledge was unquenchable. He set to 
work on a book, or a pyramid of books ; his eyes glistening 
with an energy as fierce as that of the most sordid gold-digger 
who works at a rock of quartz, crushing his way through all 
impediments, no grain of the pure ore escaping his eager scru- 
tiny. I called on him one morning at ten, he was in his study 
with a German folio open, resting on the broad marble mantel- 
piece, over an old-fashioned fire place, and with a dictionary 
in his hand. He always read standing if possible. He had 
promised over night to go with me, but now begged me to let 
him off. I then rode to Leghorn, eleven or twelve miles distant, 
and passed the day there ; on returning at six in the evening to 
dine with Mrs. Shelley and the Williams's, as I had engaged to 
do, I went into the Poet's room and found him exactly in the 
position in which I had left him in the morning, but looking 
pale and exhausted. 

'' Well," I said, " have you found it ? " 

Shutting the book and going to the window, he replied, '^ No, 
I have lost it : " with a deep sigh \ '^ ' \ have lost a day.' " 

^^ Cheer up, my lad, and come to dinner." 

Putting his long fingers through his masses of wild tangled 
hair, he answered faintly, ''You go, I have dined — late eating 
don't do for me." 

'' What is this ? " I asked as I was going out of the room, 
pointing to one of his bookshelves with a plate containing bread 
and cold meat on it. 

^' That," — coloring, — ''why that must be my dinner. It's 
very foolish ; I thought I had eaten it." 

Saying I was determined that he should for once have a regu- 
lar meal, I lugged him into the dining-room, but he brought a 
book with him and read more than he ate. He seldom ate at 
stated periods, but only when hungry, — and then like the birds, 
if he saw something edible lying about, — but the cupboards of 



THE PINE FOREST OF PISA, 



229 



literary ladies are like Mother Hubbard's, bare. His drink 
was water, or tea if he could get it, bread was literally his staff 
of life ; other things he thought superfluous. An Italian who 
knew his way of life, not believing it possible that any human 
being would live as Shelley did, unless compelled by poverty, 
was astonished when he was told the amount of his income, and 
thought he was defrauded or grossly ignorant of the value of 
money. He, therefore, made a proposition which much amused 
the Poet, that he, the friendly Italian, would undertake for ten 
thousand crowns a-year to keep Shelley like a grand Seigneur, 
to provide his table with luxuries, his house with attendants, a 
carriage and opera box for my lady, besides adorning his per- 
son after the most approved Parisian style. Mrs. Shelley's 
toilette was not included in the wily Italian's estimates. The 
fact was, Shelley stinted himself to bare necessaries, and then 
often lavished the money, saved by unprecedented self-denial, 
on selfish fellows who denied themselves nothing ; such as the 
great philosopher had in his eye when he said, ^' It is the nature 
of extreme self-lovers, as they will set a house on fire, an' it 
were only to roast their own eggs." 

Byron on our voyage to Greece, talking of England, after 
commenting on his own wrongs, said, ^^ And Shelley, too, the 
best and most benevolent of men ; they hooted him out of his 
country like a mad-dog, for questioning a dogma. Man is the 
same rancorous beast now that he was from the beginning, and 
if the Christ they profess to worship reappeared, they would 
again crucify him." 

The Pine Forest of Pisa. 

His pride was spiritual. Wlien attacked, he neither fled nor 
stood at bay, nor altered his course, but calmly went on with 
heart and mind intent on elevating his species. Whilst men 
tried to force him down to their level, he toiled to draw their 
minds upwards. His words were, '^ I always go on until I am 
stopped, and I never am stopped." Like the Indian palms, 
Shelley never flourished far from water. When compelled to 
take up his quarters in a town, he every morning with the 



230 



PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, 



instinct that guides the water-birds, fled to the nearest lake, 
river, or seashore, and only returned to roost at night. If de- 
barred from this, he sought out the most solitary places. Towns 
and crowds distracted him. Even the silent and half-deserted 
cities of Italy, with their temples, palaces, paintings-, and 
sculpture, could not make him stay, if there was a wood or 
water within his reach. At Pisa, he had a river under his win- 
dow, and a pine forest in the neighborhood. 

I accompanied Mrs. Shelley to this wood in search of the 
Poet, on one of those brilliant spring mornings we on the 
wrong side of the Alps are so rarely blessed with. A caliche 
took us out of Pisa through the gate of the Cascine ; we drove 
through the Cascine and onwards for two or three miles, tra- 
versing the vineyards and farms, on the Grand Ducal estate. 
On approaching some farm buildings, near which were a hunt- 
ing-palace and chapel, we dismissed the carriage, directing the 
driver to meet us at a certain spot in the afternoon. We then 
walked on, not exactly knowing what course to take, and were 
exceedingly perplexed on coming to an open space, from which 
four roads radiated. There we stopped until I learnt from a 
Contadino, that the one before us led directly to the sea, which 
was two or three miles distant, the one on the right, led to the 
Serchio, and that on the left, to the Arno : we decided on 
taking the road to the sea. We proceeded on our journey 
over a sandy plain ; the sun being near its zenith. Walking 
was not included among the number of accomplishments in 
which Mrs. Shelley excelled ; the loose sand and hot sun soon 
knocked her up. When we got under the cool canopy of the 
pines, she stopped and allowed me to hunt for her husband. I 
now strode along ; the forest was on my right hand, and 
extensive pastures on my left, with herds of oxen, camels, 
and horses grazing thereon. I came upon the open sea 
at a place called Gombo, from whence I could see Via 
Reggio, the Gulf of Spezzia, and the mountains beyond. 
After bathing, seeing nothing of the Poet, I penetrated 
the densest part of the forest, ever and anon making the 
woods ring with the name of Shelley, and scaring the herons 



THE PINE FOREST OF PISA, 



231 



and water-birds from the chain of stagnant pools which impeded 
my progress. 

With no landmarks to guide me, nor sky to be seen above, I 
was bewildered in this wilderness of pines and ponds ; so I sat 
down, struck a light, and smoked a cigar. A red man would 
have known his course by the trees themselves, their growth, 
form, and color ; or if a footstep had passed that day, he 
would have hit upon its trail. As I mused upon his sagacity 
and my own stupidity, the braying of a brother jackass startled 
me. He was followed by an old man picking up pine cones. 
I asked him if he had seen a stranger ? 

'^ L'Inglese malincolico haunts the woods maledetta. I will 
show you his nest." 

As we advanced, the ground swelled into mounds and hollows. 
By-and-by the old fellow pointed with his stick to a hat, books, 
and loose papers lying about, and then to a deep pool of dark 
glimmering water, saying, '^ Eccolo ! " I thought he meant 
that Shelley was in or under the water. The careless, not to 
say impatient, way in which the Poet bore his burden of life, 
caused a vague dread amongst his family and friends that he 
might lose or cast it away at any moment. 

The strong light streamed through the opening of the trees. 
One of the pines, undermined by the water, had fallen into it. 
Under its lee, and nearly hidden, sat the Poet, gazing on the 
dark mirror beneath, =o lost in his bardish reverie that he did 
not hear my approach. There the trees were stunted and bent, 
and their crowns were shorn like friars by the sea breezes, ex- 
cepting a cluster of three, under which Shelley's traps were 
lying ; these overtopped the rest. To avoid startling the Poet 
out of his dream, I squatted under the lofty trees, and opened 
his books. One was a volume of his favorite Greek dramatist, 
Sophocles, — the same that I found in his pocket after his 
death — and the other was a volume of Shakspeare. I then 
hailed him, and, turning his head, he answered faintly, 

^' Hollo, come in." 

'' Is this your study ? " I asked. 

^^ Yes," he answered, ^' and these trees are my books — they 



232 



PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 



tell no lies. You are sitting on the stool of inspiration," he 
exclaimed. '' In those three pines the weird sisters are im- 
prisoned, and this," pointmg to the water, ^' is their cauldron 
of black broth. The Pythian priestesses uttered their oracles 
from below — now they are muttered from above. Listen to 
the solemn music in the pine-tops — don't you hear the mourn- 
ful murmurings of the sea ? Sometimes they rave and roar, 
shriek and howl, like a rabble of priests. In a tempest, when 
a ship sinks, they catch the despairing groans of the drowning 
mariners. Their chorus is the eternal wailing of wretched 
men." 

'^ They, like the world," I observed, ^^ seem to take no note 
of wretched women. The sighs and wailing you talk about 
are not those of wretched men afar off, but are breathed by a 
woman near at hand — not from the pine-tops, but by a forsaken 
lady." 

^' What do you mean ? " he asked. 

^^ Why, that an hour or two ago I left your wife, Mary Shel- 
ley, at the entrance of this grove, in despair at not finding you." 

He started up, snatched up his scattered books, and papers, 
thrust them into his hat and jacket pockets, sighing '^ Poor 
Mary ! hers is a sad fate. Come along ; she can't bear soli- 
tude, nor I society — the quick coupled with the dead." 

He glided along with his usual swiftness, for nothing could 
make him pause for an instant when he had an object in view, 
until he had attained it. On hearing our voices, Mrs. Shelley 
joined us ; her clear gray eyes and thoughtful brow expressing 
the love she could not speak. To stop Shelley's self-reproaches, 
or to hide her own emotions, she began in a bantering tone, 
chiding and coaxing him : — 

*^ What a wild-goose you are, Percy; if my thoughts have 
strayed from my book, it was to the opera, and my new dress 
from Florence — and especially the ivy wreath so much admired 
for my hair, and not to you, you silly fellow ! When I left 
home, my satin slippers had not arrived. These are serious 
matters to gentlewomen, enough to ruffle the serenest tempered. 
As to you and your ungallant companion, I had forgotten that 



THE PINE FOREST OF PISA. 



233 



such things are ; but as it is the ridiculous custom to have 
men at balls and operas, I must take you with me, though, 
from your uncouth ways, you will be taken for Valentine and 
he for Orson." 

Shelley, like other students, would, when the spell that bound 
his faculties was broken, shut his books, and indulge in the 
wildest flights of mirth and folly. As this is a sport all can 
join in, we talked and laughed, and shrieked, and shouted, as 
we emerged from under the shadows of the melancholy pines 
and their nodding plumes, into the now cool purple twilight and 
open country. The cheerful and graceful peasant girls, return- 
ing home from the vineyards and olive groves, stopped to 
look at us. The old man I had met in the morning gather- 
ing pine cones, passed hurriedly by with his donkey, giving 
Shelley a wide berth, and evidently thinking that the melan- 
choly Englishman had now become a raving maniac. Sancho 
says, " Blessings on the man who invented sleep ;" the man 
who invented laughing deserves no less. 

The day I found Shelley in the pine forest, he was writing 
verses on a guitar. I picked up a fragment, but could only 
make out the first two lines : — 

" Ariel, to Miranda take 
This slave of music." 

It was a frightful scrawl ; words smeared out with his finger, 
and one upon the other, over and over in tiers, and all run 
together in most ^'admired disorder;" it might have been 
taken for a sketch of a marsh overgrown with bulrushes, and 
the blots for wild ducks ; such a dashed off daub as self-con- 
ceited artists mistake for a manifestation of genius. On my 
observing this to him, he answered, 

'' When my brain gets heated with thought, it soon boils, 
and throws off images and words faster than I can skim them 
off. In the morning, when cooled down, out of the rude sketch 
as you justly call it, I shall attempt a drawing. If you ask 
me why I publish what few or none will care to read, it is that 
the spirits I have raised haunt me until they are sent to the 



234 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 

de\'il of a printer. All authors are anxious to breech their 
bantlings." 

Shelley's Dramatic Aspirations. 

One day I drove the Poet to Leghorn. In answer to my 
questions, Shelley said, '^ In writing the Cenci my object was 
to see how I could succeed in describing passions I have never 
felt, and to tell the most dreadful story in pure and refined 
language. The image of Beatrice haunted me after seeing her 
portrait. The story is well authenticated, and the details far 
more horrible than I have painted them. The Cenci is a work 
of art ; it is not colored by my feelings, nor obscured by my 
metaphysics. I don't think much of it. It gave me less 
trouble than anything I have written of the same length. 

'' I am now Avriting a play for the stage. It is affectation to 
say we write a play for any other purpose. The subject is 
from English history ; in style and manner I shall approach 
as near our great dramatist as my feeble powers will permit. 
King Lear is my model, for that is nearly perfect. I am 
amazed at my presumption. Poets should be modest. My 
audacity savors of madness. 

'' Considering the labor requisite to excel in composition, I 
think it would be better to stick to one style. The clamor for 
novelty is leading us all astray. Yet, at Ravenna, I urged By- 
ron to come out of the dismal ' wood of error' into the sun, to 
write something new and cheerful. Don Juan is the result. 
The poetry is superior to Childe Harold, and the plan, or 
rather want of plan, gives scope to his astonishing natural 
powers. 

'^ My friends say my Prometheus is too wild, ideal, and per- 
plexed with imagery. It may be so. It has no resemblance 
to the Greek Drama. It is original ; and cost me severe 
mental labor. Authors, like mothers, prefer the children 
who have given them most trouble, Milton preferred his 
Paradise Regained, Petrarch his Africa, and Byron his Doge 
of Venice. 

'* I have the vanity to write only for poetical minds, and 



HOW SHELLEY LML'RESSED STRANGERS. 235 

must be satisfied with few readers. Byron is ambitious ; he 
writes for all, and all read his works. 

** With regard to the great question, the System of the Uni- 
verse, I have no curiosity on the subject. I am content to see 
no farther into futurity than Plato and Bacon. My mind is 
tranquil ; I have no fears and some hopes. In our present 
gross material state our faculties are clouded ; — when Death 
removes our clay coverings the mystery will be solved." 

He thought a play founded on Shakspeare's '' Timon " 
would be an excellent mode of discussing our present social 
and political evils dramatically, and of descanting on them. 

How Shelley Impressed Strangers. 

After we had tione our business, I called on a Scotch family 
and lured my companion in. He abhorred forcing himself on 
strangers — so I did no-t mention his name, merely observing, 

^^ As you said you wanted information about Italy, here is a 
friend of mine can give it you — for I cannot." 

The ladies — for there was no man there — were capital speci- 
mens of Scotchwomen, fresh from the land of cakes, — frank, 
fair, intelligent, and of course, pious. After a long and earn- 
est talk we left them, but not without difficulty, so pressing 
were they for us to stop to dinner. 

When I next visited them, they were disappointed at the 
absence of my companion ; and when I told them it was Shel- 
ley, the young and handsome mother clasped her hands, and 
exclaimed, 

^'Shelley! That bright-eyed youth ; — so gentle, so intelli- 
gent — so thoughtful for us. Oh, why did you not name him ? " 

*^ Because he thought you would have been shocked." 

"" Shocked ! — why I would have knelt to him in penitence 
for having wronged him even in my thoughts. If he is not 
pure and good — then there is no truth and goodness in this 
world. His looks reminded me of my own blessed baby, — so 
innocent — so full of love and sweetness." 

^^ So is the serpent that tempted Eve described," I said. 

" Oh, you wicked scoffer ! " she continued. ^^ But I know you 



236 



PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 



love him. I shall have no peace of mind until you bring him 
here. You remember, sister, I said his young face had lines 
of care and sorrow on it— when he was showing us the road to 
Rome on the map and the sun shone on it ; — poor boy ! Oh, 
tell us about his wife, — is she worthy of him ? She must love 
him dearly — and so must all who know him." 

To palliate the warm-hearted lady's admiration of the Poet 
— as well as my own — I must observe, that all on knowing him 
sang the same song ; and as I have before observed, even By- 
ron in his most moody and cynical vein, joined in the chorus, 
echoing my monotonous notes. The reason was, that after 
having heard or read the rancorous abuse heaped on Shelley 
by the mercenary literature of the day, — in which he was 
described as a monster more hideous than Caliban, — the revul- 
sion of feeling on seeing the man was so great, that he seemed 
as gentle a spirit as Ariel. There never has been nor can be 
any true likeness of him. Desdemona says, '' I saw Othello's 
visage in his mind," and Shelley's ^'visage" as well as his 
mind are to be seen in his works. 

Shelley on the San Spiridione. 

When I was at Leghorn with Shelley, I drew him towards 
the docks, saying, 

*^ As we have a spare hour let's see if we can't put a girdle 
round about the earth in forty minutes." In these docks are 
living specimens of all the nationalities of the world ; thus we 
can go round it, and visit and examine any particular nation we 
like, observing their peculiar habits, manners, dress, language, 
food, productions, arts, and naval architecture ; for see how 
varied are the shapes, build, rigging, and decoration of the 
different vessels. There lies an English cutter, a French chasse 
mar^e, an American clipper, a Spanish tartan, an Austrian 
trabacolo, a Genoese felucca, a Sardinian zebeck, a Neapolitan 
brig, a Sicilian sparanza, a Dutch galleot, a Danish snow, a 
Russian hermaphrodite, a Turkish sackalever, a Greek bom- 
bard. I don't see a Persian Dow, an Arab grab, or a Chinese 
junk ; but there are enough for our purpose and to spare. 



SHELLEY AND THE AMERLCAN MATE. 



237 



As you are writing a poem, * Hellas/ about the modern Greeks, 
would it not be as well to take a look at them amidst all the 
din of the docks ? I hear their shrill nasal voices, and should 
like to know if you can trace in the language or lineaments of 
these Greeks of the nineteenth century, A. D., the faintest re- 
semblance to the lofty and sublime spirits who lived in the 
fourth century, B. C. An English merchant who has dealings 
with them, told me he thought these modern Greeks were, if 
judged by their actions, a cross between the Jews and gypsies ; 
— but here comes the Capitano Zarita ; I know him." 

So dragging Shelley with me I introduced him, and asking 
to see the vessel, we crossed the plank from the quay and 
stood on the deck of The San Spiridione in the midst of her 
chattering irascible crew. They took little heed of the skipper, 
for in these trading vessels each individual of the crew is part 
owner, and has some share in the cargo ; so they are all inter- 
ested in the speculation — having no wages. They squatted 
about the decks in small knots, shrieking, gesticulating, smok- 
ing, eating, and gambling like savages. 

'^ Does this realize your idea of Hellenism, Shelley ? " I said. 

'' No ! but it does of Hell," he replied. 

The captain insisted on giving us pipes and coffee in his 
cabin, so I dragged Shelley down. Over the rudder-head facing 
us, there was a gilt box enshrining a flaming gaudy daub of a 
saint, with a lamp burning before it ; this was II Padre Santo 
Spiridione, the ship's godfather. The skipper crossed himself 
and squatted on the dirty divan. Shelley talked to him about 
the Greek revolution that was taking place, but from its inter- 
rupting trade the captain was opposed to it. 

"" Come away ! " said Shelley. '' There is not a drop of the 
old Hellenic blood here. These are not the men to rekindle 
the ancient Greek fire ; their souls are extinguished by traffic 
and superstition. Come away ! " — and away we went. 

Shelley and the American Mate. 

^' It is but a step," I said, ^' from these ruins of worn-out 
Greece to the New World, let's board the American clipper," 



238 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, 

'^ I had rather not have any more of my hopes and illusions 
mocked by sad realities," said Shelley. 

^^ You must allow," I answered, ^^ that graceful craft was 
designed by a man who had a poet's feeling for things beautiful ; 
let's get a model and build a boat like her." 

The idea so pleased the Poet that he followed me on board 
her. The Americans are a social, free-and-easy people, ac- 
customed to take their own way, and to readily yield the same 
privilege to all others, so that our coming onboard, and examina- 
tion of the vessel, fore and aft, were not considered as intrusion. 
The captain was on shore, so I talked to the mate, a smart 
specimen of a Yankee. When I commended her beauty, he 
said, 

^' I do expect, now we have our new copper on, she has a 
look of the brass sarpent, she has as slick a run, and her bear- 
ings are just where they should be." 

I said we wished to build a boat after her model. 

" Then I calculate you must go to Baltimore or Boston to get 
one ; there is no one on this side the water can do the job. 
We have our freight all ready, and are homeward-bound ; we 
have elegant accommodation, and you will be across before 
your young friend's beard is ripe for a razor. Come down, and 
take an observation of the state cabin." 

It was about seven and a half feet by five ; '' plenty of room 
to live or die comfortably in," he observed, and then pressed 
us to have a chaw of real old Virginian cake, i. e. tobacco, and 
a cool drink of peach brandy. I made some observation to 
him about the Greek vessel we had visited. 

'' Crank as an eggshell," he said ; "' too many sticks and top 
hamper, she looks like a bundle of chips going to hell to be 
burnt." 

I seduced Shelley into drinking a wine-glass of wxak grog, 
the first and last he ever drank. The Yankee would not let us 
go until we had drunk, under the star-spangled banner, to the 
memory of Washington, and the prosperity of the American 
commonwealth. 

** As a warrior and statesman," said Shelley, '' he was right- 



SHELLEY AND HIS LITERAR V BRETHREN. 239 

eous in all he did, unlike all who lived before -^r since ; he never 
used his power but for the benefit of his fellow -creatures^ 

* He fought, 
For truth and wisdom, foremost of the brave ; 
Him glory's idle glances dazzled not ; 
'l\vas his ambition, generous and great, 
A life to life's great end to consecrate.' " 

*^ Stranger," said the Yankee, ^* truer words were never 
spoken ; there is dry rot in all the main timbers of the Old 
World, and none of you will do any good till you are docked, 
refitted, and annexed to the New. You must log that song you 
sang ; there ain't many Britishers that will say as much of the 
man that whipped them ; so just set these lines down in the 
log, or it won't go for nothing." 

Shelley wrote some verses in the book, but not those he had 
quoted ; and so we parted. 

Shelley and his Literary Brethren. 

Like many other over-sensitive people, he thought everybody 
shunned him, whereas it was he who stood aloof. To the few 
who sought his acquaintance, he was frank, cordial, and, if they 
appeared worthy, friendly in the extreme ; but he shrank like 
a maiden from makmg the first advances. At the beginning 
of his literary life, he believed all authors published their opin- 
ions as he did his from a deep conviction of their truth and im- 
portance, after due investigation. When a new work appeared, 
on any subject that interested him, he would write to the 
authors expressing his opinion of their books, and giving his 
reasons for his judgment, always arguing logically, and not for 
display ; and, with his serene and imperturbable temper, variety 
of knowledge, tenacious memory, command of language, or 
rather of all the languages of literature, he was a most subtle 
critic ; but, as authors are not the meekest or mildest of men, 
he occasionally met with rude rebuffs, and retired into his own 
shell. 



240 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, 

In this way he became acquainted with Godwin, in early hfe ; 
and in his first work, ^^ Queen Mab," or rather in the notes ap- 
pended to that poem, the old philosopher's influence on the 
beardless boy is strongly marked. For publishing these notes 
Shelley was punished as the man is stated to have been who 
committed the first murder : "' every man's hand was against 
him." Southey, Wordsworth, Coleridge, Keats, and others he 
had either written to, corresponded with, or personally known ; 
but in their literary guild he found little sympathy ; their en- 
thusiasm had burnt out whilst Shelley's had waxed stronger. 
Old Rothschild's sage maxim perhaps influenced them, '^ Never 
connect yourself with an unlucky man." However that may be, 
all intercourse had long ceased between Shelley and any of the 
literary fraternity of the day, with the exception of Peacock, 
Keats, Leigh Hunt, and the Brothers Smith, of the '' Rejected 
Addresses." 

Resolves to Build a Boat. 

I will now return to our drive home from visiting the ships 
in the docks of Leghorn. Shelley was in high glee, and full of 
fun, as he generally was after these '' distractions," as he called 
them. The fact was his excessive mental labor impeded, if it 
did not paralyze, his bodily functions. When his mind was 
fixed on a subject, his mental powers were strained to the ut- 
most. If not writing or sleeping, he was reading ; he read 
whilst eating, walking, or travelling — the last thing at night, 
and the first thing in the morning — not the ephemeral literature 
of the day, which requires little or no thought, but the works of 
the old sages, metaphysicians, logicians, and philosophers, of 
the Grecian and Roman poets, and of modern scientific men, 
so that anything that could diversify or relax his overstrained 
brain was of the utmost benefit to him. Now he talked of noth- 
ing but ships, sailors, and the sea ; and, although he agreed 
with Johnson that a man who made a pun would pick a pocket, 
yet he made several in Greek, which he at least thought good, 
for he shrieked with laughter as he uttered them. Fearing his 
phil-Hellenism would end by making him serious, as it always 



HIS HOUSE OJV THE GULF OF SPEZZIA. 24 1 

did, I brought his mind back by repeating some Unes of 
Sedley's beginning, 

*' Love still has something of the sea 
From whence his mother rose." 

During the rest of our drive we had nothing but sea yarns. 
He regretted having wasted his life in Greek and Latin, instead 
of learning the useful arts of swimming and sailoring. He re- 
solved to have a good-sized boat forthwith. I proposed we 
should form a colony at the Gulf of Spezzia, and I said — *' You 
get Byron to join us, and with your family and the Williams's, 
and books, horses, and boats, undisturbed by the botherations 
of the world, we shall have all that reasonable people require." 

This scheme enchanted him. *' Well," I said, '^ propose this 
to Byron to-morrow." 

'^ No ! " he answered, ^' you must do that. Byron is always 
influenced by his last acquaintance. You are the last man, so 
do you pop the question." 

*^ I understand that feeling," I observed. '^ When well 
known neither men nor women realize our first conception of 
them, so we transfer our hopes to the new men or women who 
make a sign of sympathy, only to find them like those who 
have gone before, or worse." I quoted his own lines as exem- 
plifying my meaning — 

** Where is the beauty, love, and truth we seek, 
But in our minds ! " 

Shelley's House on the Gulf of Spezzia. 

The following morning I told Byron our plan. Without any 
suggestion from me he eagerly volunteered to join us, and 
asked me to get a yacht built for him, and to look out for a 
house as near the sea as possible. I allowed some days to pass 
before I took any steps in order to see if his wayward mind 
would change. As he grew more urgent I wrote to an old 
naval friend, Captain Roberts, then staying at Genoa, a man 
peculiarly fitted to execute the order, and requested him to 
send plans and estimates of an open boat for Shelley, and a 
II 



242 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 

large decked one for Byron. Shortly after, Williams and T 
rode along the coast to the Gulf of Spezzia. Shelley had no 
pride or vanity to provide for, yet we had the greatest difficulty 
in finding any house in which the humblest civilized family 
could exist. 

On the shores of this superb bay, only surpassed in its natu- 
ral beauty and capability by that of Naples, so effectually has 
tyranny paralyzed the energies and enterprise of man, that the 
only indication of human habitation was a few most miserable 
fishing villages scattered along the margin of the bay. Near 
its centre, between the villages of Sant' Arenzo and Lerici, we 
came upon a lonely and abandoned building called the Villa 
Magni, though it looked more like a boat or bathing-house than 
a place to live in. It consisted of a terrace or ground floor 
unpaved, and used for storing boat-gear and fishing-tackle, 
and of a single story over it divided into a hall or saloon and 
four small rooms which had once been whitewashed ; there was 
one chimney for cooking. This place, we thought the Shelleys 
might put up with for the summer. The only good thing about 
it was a veranda facing the sea, and almost over it. So we 
sought the owner and made arrangements, dependent on Shel- 
ley's approval, for taking it for six months. As to finding a 
palazzo grand enough for a Milordo Inglese, within a reasonable 
distance of the bay, it was out of the question. 

Williams returned to Pisa ; I rode on to Genoa, and settled 
with Captain Roberts about building the boats. He had 
already, with his usual activity, obtained permission to build 
them in the government dock- yards, and had his plans and es- 
timates made out. I need hardly say that though the Captain 
was a great arithmetician, this estimate, like all the estimates 
as to time and cost that were ever made, was a mere delusion, 
which made Byron wroth, but did not ruffle Shelley's serenity. 

Habits of Shelley and Byron. 

On returning to Pisa I found the two Poets going through the 
same routine of habits they had adopted before my departure ; 



THE NEW TOY. 



243 



the one getting out of bed after noon, dawdling about until two 
or three, following the same road on horseback, stopping at the 
same Podere, firing his pop-guns, and retracing his steps at the 
same slow pace ; — his frugal dinner followed by his accustomed 
visit to an Italian family, and then —the midnight lamp, and 
the immortal verses. 

The other was up at six or seven, reading Plato, Sophocles, 
or Spinoza, with the accompaniment of a hunch of dry bread ; 
then he joined Williams in a sail on the Arno, in a flat-bottomed 
skiff, book in hand, and from thence he went to the pine -forest, 
or some out-of-the-way place. When the birds'went to roost 
he returned home, and talked and read until midnight. The 
monotony of this life was only broken at long intervals by the 
arrival of some old acquaintances of Byron's : Rogers, Hob- 
house, Moore, Scott — not Sir Walter, — and these visits were 
brief. John Murray, the publisher, sent out new books, and 
wrote amusing gossiping letters, as did Tom Moore and others. 
These we were generally allowed to read, or hear read, Byron 
archly observing, '' My private and confidential letters are 
better known than any of my published works." 

The New Toy. 

Shelley's boyish eagerness to possess the new toy, from which 
he anticipated never-failing pleasure in gliding over the azure 
seas, under the cloudless skies of an Italian summer, was pleas- 
ant to behold. His comrade Williams was inspired by the 
same spirit. We used to draw plans on the sands of the Arno 
of the exact dimensions of the boat, dividing her into compart- 
ments (the forepart was decked for stowage), and then, squat- 
ting down within the lines, I marked off the imaginary cabin. 
With a real chart of the Mediterranean spread out before them, 
and with faces as grave and anxious as those of Columbus and 
his companions, they held councils as to the islands to be visited, 
coasts explored, courses steered, the amount of armament, 
stores, water, and provisions which would be necessary. Then 
we would narrate instances of the daring of the old navigators, 



244 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, 

as when Diaz discovered the Cape of Good Hope in 1446, with 
two vessels each of fifty tons burden ; or when Drake went 
round the world, one of his craft being only thirty tons ; and of 
the extraordinary runs and enterprises accomplished in open 
boats of equal or less tonnage, than the one we w^ere building 
from the earliest times to those of Commodore Bligh. Byron, 
with the smile of a Mephistopheles standing by, asked me the 
amount of salvage we, the salvors, should be entitled to in the 
probable event of our picking up and towdng Shelley's water- 
logged craft into port. 

As the world spun round, the sandy plains of Pisa became 
too hot to be agreeable, and the Shelleys, longing for the sea- 
breezes, departed to their new abode. Byron could not muster 
energy enough to break through his dawdling habits, so he 
lingered on under the fair plea of seeing the Leigh Hunts set- 
tled in his ground-floor, w^hich was prepared for them. I rode 
on to Genoa to hasten the completion and despatch of the long- 
promised boat-flotilla. I found Captain Roberts had nearly 
finished Shelley's boat. Williams had brought with him, on 
leaving England, the section of a boat as a model to build from, 
designed by a naval officer, and the two friends had so often 
sat contemplating this toy, believing it to be a marvel of nauti- 
cal architecture, that nothing would satisfy them but that their 
craft should be built exactly on the same lines. Roberts, and 
the builder at Genoa, not approving, protested against it. You 
might as well have attempted to persuade a young man after a 
season of boating, or hunting, that he w^as not a thorough sea- 
man and sportsman ; or a youngster flushed wdth honors from 
a university that he was not the wisest of men. Williams was 
on ordinary occasions as humble-minded as Shelley, but having 
been two or three years in the navy, and then in the cavalry, 
he thought there was no vanity in his believing that he was as 
good a judge of a boat or horse as any man. In these small 
conceits we are all fools at the beginning of life, until time, 
with his sledge-hammer, has let the daylight into our brain- 
boxes ; so the boat was built according to his cherished model. 
When it was finished, it took two tons of iron ballast to bring 



LETTERS TO TRELAWI^Y. 24 S 

her down to her bearings, and then she was very crank in a 
breeze, though not deficient in beam. She was fast, strongly 
built, and Torbay rigged. I despatched her under charge of 
two steady seamen, and a smart sailor lad, aged eighteen, 
named Charles Vivian. Shelley sent back the two sailors and 
only retained the boy ; they told me on their return to Genoa, 
that they had been out in a rough night, that she was a ticklish 
boat to manage, but had sailed and worked well, and with two 
good seamen she would do very well ; and that they had cau- 
tioned the gents accordingly. 

Letters to Trelawny. 
I shortly after received the following letter from Shelley : 

My dear Trelawny, lerici, May i6, 1822. 

The '' Don Juan'* is arrived, and nothing can exceed the ad- 
miration she has excited ; for we must suppose the name to 
have been given her during the equivocation of sex which her 
god-father suffered in the harem. Williams declares her to be 
perfect, and I participate in his enthusiasm, inasmuch as would 
be decent in a landsman. We have been out now several days, 
although we have sought in vain for an opportunity of trying 
her against the feluccas or other large craft in the bay ; she 
passes the small ones as a comet might pass the dullest planet of 
the heavens. When do you expect to be here in the ^^ Bolivar ? " 
If Roberts's 50/. grow into a 500/. , and his ten days into months, 
I suppose I may expect that I am considerably in your debt, 
and that you will not be round here until the middle of the 
summer. I hope that I shall be mistaken in the last of these 
conclusions ; as to the former, whatever may be the result, \ 
have little reason and less inclination to complain of my bar- 
gain. I wish you could express from me to Roberts, how ex- 
cessively I am obliged to him for the time and trouble he has 
expended for my advantage, and which I wish could be as easily 
repaid as the money which I owe him, and which I wait your 
orders for remitting. 

I have only heard from Lord Byron once, and solely upon 



246 FEJ^CV BYSSHE SHELLEY, 

that subject. Tita is with me, and I suppose will go with you 
in the schooner to Leghorn. We are very impatient to see 
you, and although we cannot hope that you will stay long on 
your first visit, we count upon you for the latter part of the 
summer, as soon as the novelty of Leghorn is blunted. Marv 
desires her best regards to you, and unites with me in a sincere 
wish to renew an intimacy from which we have already experi- 
enced so much pleasure. 

Believe me, my dear Trelawny, 

Your very sincere friend, 

P. B. Shelley. 

My dear Trelawny, lerici, jum 18, 1822. 

I have written to Guelhard, to pay you 154 Tuscan crowns, 
the amount of the balance against me according to Roberts's 
calculation, which I keep for your satisfaction, deducting sixty, 
which I paid the aubergiste at Pisa, in all 214. We saw you 
about eight miles in the offing this morning ; but the abate- 
ment of the breeze leaves us little hope that you can have made 
Leghorn this evening. Pray write us a full, true, and particu- 
lar account of your proceedings, etc. — How Lord Byron likes 
the vessel ; what are your arrangeinents and intentions for the 
summer ; and when we may expect to see you or him in this 
region again ; and especially whether there is any news of Hunt. 

Roberts and Williams are very busy in refitting the ** Don 
Juan ; " they seem determined that she shall enter Leghorn in 
style. I am no great judge of these matters ; but am exces- 
sively obliged to the former, and delighted that the latter should 
find amusement, like the sparrow, in educating the cuckoo's 
young. 

You, of course, enter into society at Leghorn ; should you 
meet with any scientific person, capable of preparing the 
Prussia Acid, or essential oil of bitter almonds, I should regard 
it as a great kindness if you could procure me a small quantity 
It requires the greatest caution in preparation, and ought to be 
highly concentrated ; I would give any price for this medicine ; 
you remember we talked of it the other night, and we both 



SHELLEY'S SEAMANS/ILP. 



247 



expressed a wish to possess it ; my v/ish was serious, and sprung 
from the desire of avoiding needless suffering. I need not tell 
you I have no intention of suicide at present, but I confess it 
would be a comfort to me to hold in my possession that golden 
key to the chamber of perpetual rest. The Prussic Acid is 
used in medicine in infinitely minute doses ; but that prepara- 
tion is weak, and has not the concentration necessary to medi- 
cine all ills infallibly. A single drop, even less, is a dose, and 
it acts by paralysis. 

I am curious to hear of this publication about Lord Byron 
and the Pisa circle. I hope it will not annoy him, as to me I 
am supremely indifferent. If you have not shown the letter I 
sent you, don't, until Hunt's arri\al, when we shall certainly 
meet. Your very sincere friend^ 

P. B. Shelley. 

Mary is better, though still excessively weak. 

Shelley's Seamanship. 

Not long after, I followed in Byron's boat, the *^ Bolivar" 
schooner. There was no fault to find with her ; Roberts and 
the builder had fashioned her after their own fancy, and she 
was both fast and safe. I manned her with five able seamen, 
four Genoese and one Englishman. I put into the Gulf of 
Spezzia, and found Shelley in ecstasy with his boat, and Wil- 
liams as touchy about her reputation as if she had been his 
wife. They were hardly ever out of her, and talked of the 
Mediterranean as a lake too confined and tranquil to exhibit 
her sea-going excellence. They longed to be on the broad 
Atlantic, scudding under bare poles jn a heavy sou'wester, with 
plenty of sea room. I went out for a sail in Shelley's boat to 
see how they would manage her. It was great fun to witness 
Williams teaching the Poet how to steer, and other points of 
seamanship. As usual^, Shelley had a book in hand, saying he 
could read and steer at the same time, as one was mental, the 
other mechanical. 

'' Luff!" said Williams. 



248 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, 

Shelley put the helm the wrong way. Williams corrected 
him. 

^' Do you see those two white objects a-head ? keep them in 
a line, the wind is heading us.'^ Then turning to me, he said : 
^^ Lend me a hand to haul in the main-sheet, and I will show 
you how close she can lay to the wind to work off a lee-shore." 

'"'' No," I answered; '^ I am a passenger, and won't touch a 
rope." 

*^Luff!" said Williams, as the boat was yawning about. 
'^Shelley, you can't steer, you have got her in the wind's eye ; 
give me the tiller, and you attend the main-sheet. Ready 
about ! " said Williams. '^ Helms down — let go the fore-sheet 
— see how she spins round on her heel — is not she a beauty ? 
Now, Shelley, let go the main-sheet, and boy, haul aft the jib- 
sheet ! " 

The main-sheet was jammed, and the boat unmanageable, 
or as sailors express it, in irons ; when the^two had cleared it, 
Shelley's hat was knocked overboard, and he would probably 
have followed, if I had not held him. He was so uncommonly 
awkward, that when they had things ship-shape, Williams, 
somewhat scandalized at the lubberly manoeuvre, blew up the 
Poet for his neglect and inattention to orders. Shelley was, 
however, so happy, and in such high glee, and the nautical 
terms so tickled his fancy, that he even put his beloved ''' Plato " 
in his pocket, and gave his mind up to fun and frolic. 

^' You will do no good with Shelley," I said, ^* until you 
heave his books and papers overboard ; shear the wisps of 
hair that hang over his eyes ; and plunge his arms up to the 
elbow in a tar-bucket. And you, captain, will have no 
authority, until you dowse your frock coat and cavalry boots. 
You see I am stripped for a swim, so please, whilst I am on 
board, to keep within swimming distance of the land." 

The boy was quick and handy, and used to boats. Williams 
was not as deficient as I anticipated, but over-anxious and 
wanted practice, which alone makes a man prompt in emer- 
gency. Shelley was intent on catching images from the ever- 
changing sea and sky, he heeded not the boat. On my su^^- 



SHELLEY^ BYRON, AND THE HUNTS, 249 

gesting the addition to their crew of a Genoese sailor accus- 
tomed to the coast — such as I had on board the ^' Bolivar/' — 
Williams, thinking I undervalued his efficiency as a seaman, 
was scandalized — *^ as if we three seasoned salts were not 
enough to manage an open boat, when lubberly sloops and 
cutters of fifty or sixty tons were worked by as few men on the 
rough seas and iron-bound coast of Scotland ! " 

'' Yes," I answered, " but what a difference between those 
sea-lions and you and our water-poet ! A decked cutter be- 
sides, or even a frigate is easier handled in a gale or squall, 
and out-and-out safer to be on board of than an open boat. If 
we had been in a squall to-day with the main-sheet jammed, 
and the tiller put starboard instead of port, we should have 
had to swim for it." 

** Not I : I should have gone down with the rest of the pigs 
in the bottom of the boat," said Shelley, meaning the iron pig- 
ballast. 

When I took my departure for Leghorn on board the 
'* Bolivar," they accompanied me out of the bay, and then we 
parted. 

Shelley, Byron, and the Hunts. 

Shelley, with his friend Williams, soon came in their boat, 
scudding into the harbor of Leghorn. They went with the 
Hunts to Pisa, and established them in Lord Byron's palace, 
Shelley having furnished a floor there for them. In a few days 
Shelley returned to Leghorn, and found Williams eager to be 
off. We had a sail outside the port in the two boats. Shelley 
was in a mournful mood ; his mind depressed by a recent in- 
terview with Byron. 

Byron, at first, had been more eager than Shelley for Leigh 
Hunt's arrival in Italy to edit and contribute to the proposed 
new Review, and so continued until his English correspondents 
had worked on his fears. They did not oppose, for they knew 
his temper too well, but artfully insinuated that he was jeopar- 
dizing his fame and fortune, &c., &c., &c. Shelley found 



2 50 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, 

Byron so irritable, so shuffling and equivocating, whilst talking 
with him on the fufilment of his promises with regard to 
Leigh Hunt, — that, but for imperilling Hunt's prospects, 
Shelley's intercourse wdth Byron would then have abruptly 
terminated ; it was doomed to be their last meeting. 

On Saturday, the 6th, Williams wrote the following letter to 
his wife at the Villa Magni : 

'' I have just left the quay, my dearest girl, and the wind 
blows right across to Spezzia, which adds to the vexation I feel 
at being unable to leave this place. For my own part, I should 
have been wdth you in all probability on Wednesday evening, 
but I have been kept day after day, w'aiting for Shelley's 
definitive arrangements with Lord B. relative to poor Hunt, 
whom, in my opinion, he has treated vilely. A letter from 
Mary, of the most gloomy kind, reached S. yesterday, and 
this mood of hers aggravated my uneasiness to see you ; for I 
am proud, dear girl, beyond words to express, in the conviction, 
that wherever we may be together you could be cheerful and 
contented. 

'' Would I could take the present gale by the wdngs and 
reach you to-night ; hard as it blows I would venture across for 
stick a reward. However, to-morrow som'e thing decisive shall 
take place ; and if I am detained, I shall depart in a feluca, 
and leave the boat to be brought round in company with Tre- 
lawny in the ' Bolivar.' He talks of visiting Spezzia again in 
a few days. I am tired to death of waiting — this is our longest 
separation, and seems a year to me. Absence alone is enough 
to make me anxious, and indeed, unhappy ; but I think if I 
had left you in our own house in solitude, I should feel it less 
than I do now\ What can I do ? Poor S. desires that I should 
return to you, but I know secretly wishes me not to leave him 
in the lurch. He too, by his manner, is as anxious to see you 
almost as I could be, but the interests of poor H. keep him 
here ; — in fact, with Lord B. it appears they cannot do any- 
thing, — who actually said as much as that he did not wish (?) 
his name to be attached to the work, and of course to theirs. 



SHELLEY, BYRON; AND THE HUNTS. 



251 



" In Lord Byron's family all is confusion ; — the cut-throats 
he is so desirous to have about him, have involved him in a 
second row ; and although the present banishment of the 
Gambas from Tuscany is attributed to the first affair of the 
dragoon, the continued disturbances among his and their ser- 
vants is, I am sure, the principal cause for its being carried 
into immediate effect. Four days (commencing from the day 
of our arrival at Leghorn) were only given them to find another 
retreat ; and as Lord B. considers this a personal^ though 
tacit attack upon himself, he chooses to follow their fortunes 
in another country. Genoa was first selected, — of that govern- 
ment they could have no hope ; — Geneva was then proposed, 
and this proved as bad if not worse. Lucca is now the choice, 
and Trelawny was despatched last night to feel their way with 
the governor, to whom he carried letters. All this time Hunt 
is shuffled off from day to day, and now, heaven knows, when 
or how it will end. 

"" Lord B.'s reception of Mrs. H. was — as S. tells me — most 
shameful. She came into his house sick and exhausted, and 
he scarcely deigned to notice her ; was silent, and scarcely 
bowed. This conduct cut H. to the soul ; but the way in 
which he received our friend Roberts, at Dunn's door, shall be 
described when we meet : — it must be acted. How I long to 
see you ; I had written when^ but I will make no promises, 
for I too well know how distressing it is to both of us to break 
them. Tuesday evening at furthest, unless kept by the 
weather, I will say, ^ Oh, Jane ! how fervently I press you and 
our little ones to my heart.' 

'' Adieu ! — Take body and soul ; for you are at once my 
heaven and earth ; — that is all I ask of both. 

^^ E. Elk. W— . 

*^ S. is at Pisa, and will write to-night to me." 

The last entry in Williams's Journal is dated July 4, 1822, 
Leghorn. 

** Processions of priests and religiosi have been for several 



252 



PERCY BYSSIIE SHELLEY. 



days past praying for rain ; but the gods are either angry, or 
nature too powerful." 

Row WITH Soldiers. 

The affair of the dragoon alluded to in Williams's letter, as 
connected with the Gambas, was this: As Byron and his com- 
panions were returning to Pisa on horseback, the road being 
blocked up by the party, — a sergeant-major on duty in their 
rear trotted his horse through the cavalcade. One of the awk- 
ward literary squad, — a resolute bore, but timid rider, — was 
nearly spilt, from his nag shying. To divert the jeers from 
his own bad riding, he appealed pathetically to Byron, say- 
ing :— 

''' Shall we endure this man's insolence ? " 

Byron said : '' No, we will bring him to an account ; " and 
instantly galloped after the dragoon into Pisa, his party follow- 
ing. The guard at the gate turned out with drawn swords, 
but could not stop them. Some of the servants of Byron 
and the Gambas were idling on the steps of his palace ; 
getting a glimpse of the row, one of them armed himself 
with a stable-fork, rushed at the dragoon as he passed 
Byron's palace, and wounded him severely in the side. This 
scene was acted in broad daylight on the Lung 'Arno, the 
most public place in the city, scores of people looking on! 
yet the police, with their host of spies and backed by the 
power of a despotic government, could never ascertain who 
struck the blow. 

Not liking to meddle with the Poet, they imprisoned two of 
his servants, and exiled the family of Count Gamba. Byron 
chose to follow them. Such is the hatred of the Italians to 
their rulers and all who have authority over them, that the 
blind beggars at the corners of the streets, — no others are per- 
mitted to beg in Tuscany, — hearing that the English were with- 
out arms, sidled up to some of them, adroitly putting into 
their hands formidable stilettos, which they had concealed in 
the sleeves of their ragged gaberdines. 



THAT FATAL AND PERFIDIOUS BARK, 
Shelley wrote me the following note about the dragoon. 



253 



My dear T. 

Gamba is with me, and we are drawing up a paper de- 
manded of us by the police. Mary tells me that you have an 
account from Lord Byron of the affair, and we wish to see it 
before ours is concluded. The man is severely wounded in 
the side, and his life is supposed to be in danger from the 
weapon having grazed the liver. It were as well if you could 
come here, as we shall decide on no statement without you. 

Ever yours truly, 

Shelley. 

Mrs. Shelley, writing an account of the row, says : 
** Madame G. and I happened to be in the carriage, ten 
paces behind, and saw the whole. Taaffe kept at a safe dis- 
tance during the fray, but fearing the consequence, he wrote 
such a report that Lord Byron quarrelled with him ; and what 
between insolence and abject humility he has kept himself in 
hot water, when, in fact, he had nothing to fear.'' 

That Fatal and Perfidious Bark. 

On Monday, the 8th of July, 1822, I went with Shelley to 
his bankers, and then to a store. It was past one P. M. when 
we went on board our respective boats, — Shelley and Williams 
to return to their home in the Gulf of Spezzia ; I in the 
*^ Bolivar," to accompany them into the offing. When we 
were under weigh, the guard-boat boarded us to overhaul our 
papers. I had not got my port clearance, the captain of the 
port having refused to give it to the mate, as I had often gone 
without. The officer of the Health Office consequently 
threatened me with forty days' quarantine. It was hopeless to 
think of detaining my friends. W^illiams had been for days 
fretting and fuming to be off; they had no time to spare, it 
was past two o'clock, and there was very little wind. 

Sullenly and reluctantly I re-anchored, furled my sails, and 
with a ship's glass watched the progress of my friends' boat. 



254 



PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 



My Genoese mate observed, — ^^ They should have sailed this 
morning at three or four A. M., instead of three P. M. They 
are standing too much in 'shore ; the current will set them 
there." 

I said, ^^ They will soon have the land-breeze." 

'^May-be," continued the mate, ^*she will soon have too 
much breeze ; that gaff top-sail is foolish in a boat with no 
deck and no sailor on board." Then pointing to the S.W., 
'^ Look at those black lines and the dirty rags hanging on them 
out of the sky — they are a warning ; look at the smoke on the 
water ; the devil is brewing mischief." 

There was a sea-fog, in which Shelley's boat was soon after 
enveloped, and we saw nothing more of her. 

Although the sun was obscured by mists, it was oppressively 
sultry. There was not a breath of air in the harbor. The 
heaviness of the atmosphere and an unwonted stillness be- 
numbed my senses. I went down into the cabin and sank into 
a slumber. I was roused up by a noise over-head and went on 
deck. The men were getting up a chain cable to let go another 
anchor. There was a general stir amongst the shipping ; 
shifting berths, getting down yards and masts, veering out 
cables, hauling in of hawsers, letting go anchors, hailing from 
the ships and quays, boats sculling rapidly to and fro. It was 
almost dark, although only half-past six o'clock. The sea was of 
the color, and looked as solid and smooth as a sheet of lead, and 
covered with an oily scum. Gusts of wind swept over without 
ruffling it, and big drops of rain fell on its surface, rebounding, 
as if they could not penetrate it. There was a commotion in 
the air, made up of many threatening sounds, coming upon us 
from the sea. Fishing-craft and coasting-vessels under bare 
poles rushed by us in shoals, running foul of the ships in the 
harbor. As yet the din and hubbub was that made by men, 
but their shrill pipings were suddenly silenced by the crashing 
voice of a thunder squall that burst right over our heads. For 
some time no other sounds were to be heard than the thunder, 
wind, and rain. When the fury of the storm, which did not 
last for more than twenty minutes, had abated, and the horizon 



THAT FATAL AND PERFIDIOUS BARK. 



255 



was in some degree cleared, I looked to seaward anxiously, in 
the hope of descrying Shelley's boat, amongst the many small 
craft scattered about. I watched every speck that loomed on 
the horizon, thinking that they would have borne up on their 
return to the port, as all the other boats that had gone out in 
the same direction had done. 

I sent our Genoese mate on board some of the returning 
craft to make inquiries, but they all professed not to have seen 
the English boat. So remorselessly are the quarantine laws 
enforced in Italy, that, when at sea, if you render assistance 
to a vessel in distress, or rescue a drowning stranger, on re- 
turning to port you are condemned to a long and rigorous 
quarantine of fourteen or more days. The consequence is, 
should one vessel see another in peril, or even run it down by 
accident, she hastens on her course, and by general accord, 
not a word is said or reported on the subject. But to resume 
my tale. I did not leave the ^^ Bolivar" until dark. During 
the night it was gusty and showery, and the lightning flashed 
along the coast ; at daylight I returned on board, and resumed 
my examinations of the crews of the various boats which had 
returned to the port during the night. They either knew 
nothing, or would say nothing. My Genoese, with the quick 
eye of a sailor, pointed out, on board a fishing-boat, an Eng- 
lish-made oar, that he thought he had- seen in Shelley's boat, 
but the entire crew swore by all the saints in the calendar that 
this was not so. Another day was passed in horrid suspense. 
On the morning of the third day I rode to Pisa. Byron had 
returned to the Lanfranchi Palace. I hoped to find a letter from 
the Villa Magni ; there was none. I told my fears to Hunt, 
and then went upstairs to Byron. When 1 told him, his lip 
quivered, and his voice faltered as he questioned me. I sent 
a courier to Leghorn to despatch the ^^ Bolivar," to cruise 
along the coast, whilst I mounted my horse and rode in the 
same direction. I also despatched a courier along the coast to 
go as far as Nice. On my arrival at Via Reggio, I heard that 
a punt, a water-keg, and some bottles had been found on the 



256 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 

beach. These things I recognized as having been in Shelley^s 
boat when he left Leghorn. 

The Bodies Found. 

Nothing more was found for seven or eight days, during 
which time of painful suspense, I patrolled the coast with the 
coast-guard, stimulating them to keep a good look-out by the 
promise of a reward. It was not until many days after this 
that my worst fears were confirmed. Two bodies were found 
on the shore, — one near Via Reggio, which I went and exam- 
ined. The face and hands, and parts of the body not protected 
by the dress, were fleshless. The tall, slight figure, the jacket, 
the volume of Sophocles in one pocket, and Keats's poems in 
the other, doubled back, as if the reader, in the act of reading, 
had hastily thrust it away, were all too familiar to me to leave 
a doubt on my mind that this mutilated corpse was any other 
than Shelley's. The other body was washed on shore three 
miles distant from Shelley's, near the tower of Migliarino, at 
the Rocca Lericcio. I went there at once. This corpse was 
much more mutilated ; it had no other covering than the 
shreds of a shirt, and that partly drawn over the head, as if 
the wearer had been in the act of taking it off, — a black silk 
handkerchief, tied sailor-fashion, round the neck, — socks, — 
and one boot, indicating also that he had attempted to strip. 
The flesh, sinews, and muscles hung about in rags, like the 
shirt, exposing the ribs and bones. I had brought with me 
from Shelley's house a boot of Williams's, and this exactly 
matched the one the corpse had on. That, and the handker- 
chief, satisfied me that it was the body of Shelley's comrade. 
Williams was the only one of the three who could swim, and it 
is probable that he was the last survivor. It is likewise possible, 
as he had a watch and money, and was better dressed than the 
others, that his body might have been plundered when found. 
Shelley always declared that in case of wreck he would 
vanish instantly, and not imperil valuable lives by permitting 
others to aid in saving his, which he looked upon as valueless. 



THE TWO WIDOWS. 25/ 

*. 

It was not until three weeks after the wreck of the boat that a 
third body was found — four miles from the other two. This I 
concluded to be that of the sailor boy, Charles Vivian, al- 
though it was a mere skeleton, and impossible to be identified. 
It was buried in the sand, above the reach of the waves. 

The Two Widows. 

I mounted my horse, and rode to the Gulf of Spezzia, put 
up my horse, and walked until I caught sight of the lone house 
on the sea-shore in which Shelley and Williams had dwelt, and 
where their widows still lived. Hitherto in my frequent visits 
— in the absence of direct evidence to the contrary, I had 
buoyed up their spirits by maintaining that it was not impossi- 
ble but that the friends still lived ; now I had to extinguish 
the last hope of these forlorn women. I had ridden fast, to 
prevent any ruder messenger from bursting in upon them. As 
I stood on the threshold of their house, the bearer, or rather 
confirmer, of news which would rack every fibre of their 
quivering frames to the utmost, I paused, and, looking at the 
sea, my memory reverted to our joyous parting only a few 
days before. 

The two families, then, had all been in the veranda, over- 
hanging a sea so clear and calm, that every star was reflected 
on the water, as if it had been a mirror; the young mothers 
singing some merry tune, with the accompaniment of a guitar. 
Shelley's shrill laugh — I heard it still — rang in my ears, with 
Williams's friendly hail, the general biiona notte of all the joyous 
party, and the earnest entreaty to me to return as soon as 
possible, and not to forget the commissions they had severally 
given me. I was in a small boat beneath them, slowly rowing 
myself on board the " Bolivar," at anchor in the bay, loath to 
part from what I verily believed to have been at that time the 
most united, and happiest, set of human beings in the whole 
world. And now by the blow of an idle puff of wind the scene 
was changed. Such is human happiness. 

My reverie was broken by a shriek from the nurse Caterina, 
as, crossing the hall, she saw me in the doorway. After asking 



258 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, 

• ♦ 

her a few questions, I went up the stairs, and, unannounced, 
entered the room. I neither spoke, nor did they question me. 
Mrs. Shelley's large gray eyes were fixed on my face. I turned 
away. Unable to bear this horrid silence, with a convulsive 
effort she exclaimed — 

'' Is there no hope ? " 

I did not answer, but left the room, and sent the servant with 
the children to them. The next day I prevailed on them to 
return with me to Pisa. The misery of that night and the jour- 
ney of the next day, and of many days and nights that followed, 
I can neither describe nor forget. ^ 

Disposition of Shelley's Remains. 

It was ultimately determined by those most interested, that 
Shelley's remains should be removed from where they lay, and 
conveyed to Rome, to be interred near the bodies of his child, 
and of his friend Keats, with a suitable monument, and that 
Williams's remains should be taken to England. To do this, 
in their then far advanced state of decomposition, and to obviate 
the obstacles offered by the quarantine laws, the ancient custom 
of burning and reducing the body to ashes was suggested. I 
wrote to our minister at Florence, Dawkins, on the subject, 
and solicited his friendly intercession with the Lucchese and 
Florentine governments, that I might be furnished with author- 
ity to accomplish our purpose. 

The following was his answer : — 

Dear Sir, 

An order was sent yesterday from hence to the Governor of 
Via Reggio, to deliver up the remains of Mr. Shelley to you, 
or any person empowered by you to receive them. 

I said they were to be removed to Leghorn for interment, 
but that need not bind you. If they go by sea, the governor 
will give you the papers necessary to insure their admittance 
elsewhere. If they travel by land, they must be accompanied 
by a guard as far as the frontier, — a precaution always taken to 



PREPARATIONS FOR THE BURNING, 259 

prevent the possibility of infection. Quicklime has been thrown 
into the graves, as is usual in similar cases. 

With respect to the removal of the other corpse, I can tell 
you nothing till I hear from Florence. I applied for the order 
as soon as I received your letter, and I expect an answer to my 
letter by to-morrow's post. 

I am very sensible of Lord Byron's kindness, and should have 
called upon him when I passed through Pisa, had he been any- 
body but Lord Byron. Do not mention trouble ; I am here to 
take as much as my countrymen think proper to give me ; and 
all I ask in return is fair play and good humor, which I am sure 
I shall always find in the S. S. S. 

Believe me, dear sir, 

Yours very faithfully, 

W. Dawkins. 

Such were his subsequent influence and energy, that he ulti- 
mately overcame all the obstacles and repugnance of the Ital- 
ians to sanction such an unprecedented proceeding in their 
territories. 

Preparations for the Burning. 

I got a furnace made at Leghorn, of iron-bars and strong 
sheet-iron, supported on a stand, and laid in a stock of fuel, 
and such things as were said to be used by Shelley's much 
loved Hellenes on their funeral pyres. 

On the 13th of August, 1822, I went on board the *' Bolivar," 
with an English acquaintance, having written to Byron and 
Hunt to say I would send them word when everything w\as 
ready, as they wished to be present. I had previously engaged 
two large feluccas, with drags and tackling, to go before, and 
endeavor to find the place where Shelley's boat had foundered ; 
the captain of one of the feluccas having asserted that he was 
out in the fatal squall, and had seen Shelley's boat go down 
off Via Reggio, with all sail set. With light and fitful breezes 
we were eleven hours reaching our destination — the tower of 
Migliarino, at the Bocca Lericcio, in the Tuscan States. There 



26o P^-R CY B YSSHE SHELLE F. 

was a village there, and about two miles from that place Wil- 
liams was buried. So I anchored, landed, called on the officer 
in command, a major, and told him my object in coming, of 
which he was already apprised by his own government. He 
assured me I should have every aid from him. As it was too 
late in the day to commence operations, we went to the only 
inn in the place, and I wrote to Byron to be with us next day 
at noon. The major sent my letter to Pisa by a dragoon, and 
made arrangements for the next day. In the morning he was 
with us early, and gave me a note from Byron, to say he would 
join us as near noon as he could. At ten we went on board 
the commandant's boat, with a squad of soldiers in working 
dresses, armed with mattocks and spades, an officer of the 
quarantine service, and some of his crew. They had their pe- 
culiar tools, so fashioned as to do their work without coming 
into personal contact with things that might be infectious — long- 
handled tongs, nippers, poles with iron hooks and spikes, and 
divers others that gave one a lively idea of the implements of 
torture devised by the holy inquisitors. Thus freighted, we 
started, my own boat following with the furnace, and the things 
I had brought from Leghorn. We pulled along the shore for 
some distance, and landed at a line of strong posts and railings 
which projected into the sea — forming the boundary dividing 
the Tuscan and Lucchese States. We walked along the shore 
to the grave, where Byron and Hunt soon joined us : they, too, 
had an officer and soldiers from the tower of Migliarino, an 
officer of the Health Office, and some dismounted dragoons, so 
we were surrounded by soldiers, but they kept the ground clear, 
and readily lent their aid. There was a considerable gathering 
of spectators from the neighborhood, and many ladies richly 
dressed were amongst them. The spot where the body lay was 
marked by the gnarled root of a pine tree. 

Opening the Grave. 

A rude hut, built of young pine-tree stems, and wattled with 
their branches, to keep the sun and rain out, and thatched with 



OPENING THE GRAVE. 26 1 

reeds, stood on the beach to shelter the look-out man on duty. 
A few yards from this was the grave, which w^e commenced 
opening — the Gulf of Spezzia and Leghorn at equal distances 
of twenty-two miles from us. As to fuel, I might have saved 
myself the trouble of bringing any, for there was an ample 
supply of broken spars and planks cast on the shore from 
wrecks, besides the fallen and decaying timber in a stunted 
pine forest close at hand. The soldiers collected fuel whilst I 
erected the furnace, and then the men of the Health Office set 
to work, shovelling away the sand which covered the body, 
while we gathered round, watching anxiously. The first indi- 
cation of their having found the body, was the appearance of 
the end of a black silk handkerchief — I grubbed this out with 
a stick, for we were not allowed to touch anything with our 
hands — then some shreds of linen were met with, and a boot 
with the bone of the leg and the foot in it. On the removal of 
a layer of brushwood, all that now remained of my lost friend 
was exposed — a shapeless mass of bones a.nd flesh. The limbs 
separated from the trunk on being touched. 

''' Is that a human body ? " exclaimed Byron ; ^^ why it's more 
like the carcase of a sheep, or any other animal, than a man : 
this is a satire on our pride and folly." 

1 pointed to the letters E. E. W. on the black silk handker- 
chief. 

Byron looking on, muttered, ^^The entrails of a worm hold 
together longer than the potter's clay, of w^hich man is made. 
Hold ! let me see the jaw," he added, as they were removing 
the skull, ^' I can recognize any one by the teeth, with whom I 
have talked. I always watch the lips and mouth : they tell 
what the tongue and eyes try to conceal." 

I had a boot of Williams's with me ; it exactly corresponded 
with the one found in the grave. The remains were removed 
piecemeal into the furnace. 

'^ Don't repeat this with me,'* said Byron ; '^ let my carcase 
rot where it falls." 



262 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 

The Burning of Williams. 

The funereal pyre was now ready ; I applied the fire, and 
the materials, being dry and resinous, the pine -wood burnt 
furiously, and drove us back. It was hot enough before, there 
was no breath of air, and the loose sand scorched our feet. As 
soon as the flames became clear, and allowed us to approach 
we threw frankincense and salt into the furnace, and poured a 
flask of wine and oil over the body. The Greek oration was 
omitted, for we had lost our Hellenic bard. It was now so in- 
sufferably hot that the officers and soldiers were all seeking 
shade. 

^^Let us try the strength of these waters that drowned our 
friends," said Byron, with his usual audacity. '' How far out 
do you think they were when their boat sank ? " 

'' If you don't wish to be put into the furnace, you had better 
not try ; you are not in condition." 

He stripped, and went into the water, and so did I and my 
companion. Before we got a mile out, Byron was sick, and 
persuaded to return to the shore. ?vly companion, too, was 
seized with cramp, and reached the land by my aid. At four 
o'clock the funereal pyre burnt low, and when we uncovered 
the furnace, nothing remained in it but dark-colored ashes, 
with fragments of the larger bones. Poles were now put under 
the red-hot furnace, and it was gradually cooled in the sea. I 
gathered together the human ashes, and placed them in a small 
oak-box, bearing an inscription on a brass plate, screwed it 
down, and placed it in Byron's carriage. He returned with 
Hunt to Pisa, promising to be with us on the following day at 
Via Reggio. I returned with my party in the same way we 
came, and supped and slept at the inn. 

The Burning of Shelley. 

On the following morning we went on board the same boats, 
with the same things and party, and rowed down the little river 
near Via Reggio to the sea, pulled along the coast towards 
Massa, then landed, and began our preparations as before. 



THE BURNING OF SHELLEY, 263 

Three white wands had been stuck in the sand to mark the 
Poet's grave, but as they were at some distance from each 
other, we had to cut a trench thirty yards in length, in the Une 
of the sticks, to ascertain the exact spot^ and it was nearly an 
hour before we came upon the grave. 

In the mean time Byron and Leigh Hunt arrived in the car- 
riage, attended by soldiers, and the Health Officer, as before. 
The lonely and grand scenery that surrounded us so exactly 
harmonized with Shelley's genius, that I could imagine his spirit 
soaring over us. The sea, with the islands of Gorgona, Capraji, 
and Elba, was before us ; old battlemented watch-towers 
stretched along the coast, backed by the marble-crested Apen- 
nines glistening in the sun, picturesque from theit diversified 
outlines, and not a human dwelling was in sight. As I thought 
of the delight Shelley felt in such scenes of loneliness and gran- 
deur whilst living, I felt we were no better than a herd of wolves 
or a pack of wild dogs, in tearing out his battered and naked 
body from the pure yellow sand that lay so lightly over it, to 
drag him back to the light of day ; but the dead have no voice, 
nor had I power to check the sacrilege — the work went on 
silently in the deep and unresisting sand, not a word was spoken, 
for the Italians have a touch of sentiment, and their feelings are 
easily excited into sympathy. Even Byron was silent and 
thoughtful. We were startled and drawn together by a dull 
hollow sound that followed the blow of a mattock ; the iron had 
struck a skull, and the body was soon uncovered. Lime had 
been strewn on it ; this, or decomposition, had the effect of 
staining it of a dark and ghastly indigo color. Byron asked me 
to preserve the skull for him ; but remembering that he had 
formerly used one as adrinking-cup, I was determined Shelley's 
should not be so profaned. The limbs did not separate from 
the trunk, as in the case of Williams's body, so that the corpse 
was removed entire into the furnace. I had taken the precau- 
tion of having more and larger pieces of timber, in consequence 
of my experience of the day before of the difficulty of consum- 
ing a corpse in the open air with our apparatus. After the fire 
was well kindled we repeated the ceremony of the previous 



264 



PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 



day ; and more wine was poured over Shelley's dead body than 
he had consumed during his life. This with the oil and salt 
made the yellow flames glisten and quiver. The heat from the 
sun and fire was so intense that the atmosphere was tremulous 
and wavy. The corpse fell open and the heart was laid bare. 
The frontal bone of the skull, where it had been struck with 
the mattock, fell off; and, as the back of th-e head rested 
on the red-hot bottom bars of the furnace, the brains literally 
seethed, bubbled, and boiled as in a cauldron, for a very long 
time. 

Byron could not face this scene, he withdrew to the beach 
and swam off to the '' Bolivar." Leigh Hunt remained in the 
carriage. The fire w^as so fierce as to produce a white heat on 
the iron, and to reduce its contents to gray ashes. The only 
portions that were not consumed were some fragments of bones, 
the jaw, and the skull, but what surprised us all, was that the 
heart remained entire. In snatching this relic from the fiery 
furnace, my hand was severely burnt ; and had any one seen 
me do the act I should have been put into quarantine. 

After cooling the iron machine in the sea, I collected the 
human ashes and placed them in a box, which I took on board 
the *' Bolivar." Byron and Hunt retraced their steps to their 
home, and the officers and soldiers returned to their quarters. 
I liberally rewarded the men for the admirable manner in 
which they behaved during the two days they had been with 
us. 

As I undertook and executed this novel ceremony, I have 
been thus tediously minute in describing it. 

Byron's idle talk, during the exhumation of Williams's re- 
mains, did not proceed from want of feeling, but from his 
anxiety to conceal what he felt from others. When confined to 
his bed and racked by spasms, which threatened his life, I have 
heard him talk in a much more unorthodox fashion, the instant 
he could muster breath to banter. He had been taught during 
his town-life, that any exhibition of sympathy or feeling was 
maudlin and unmanly, and that the appearance of daring and 
indifference, denoted blood and high breeding. 



SHELLEY'S GRAVE, 265 

Shelley's Grave. 

When I arrived at Leghorn, as I could not immediately go 
on to Rome, I consigned Shelley's ashes to our Consul at Rome, 
Mr. Freeborn, requesting him to keep them in his custody until 
my arrival. When I reached Rome, Freeborn told me that to 
quiet the authorities there, he had been obliged to inter the 
ashes with the usual ceremonies in the Protestant burying-place. 
When I came to examine the ground with the man who had the 
custody of it, I found Shelley's grave amidst a cluster of others. 
The old Roman wall partly inclosed the place, and there was a 
niche in the wall formed by two buttresses — immediately under 
an ancient pyramid, said to be the tomb of Caius Cestius. 
There were no graves near it at that time. This suited my 
taste, so I purchased the recess, and sufficient space for plant- 
ing a row of the ItaUan upright cypresses. As the souls of 
heretics are foredoomed by the Roman priests, they do not 
affect to trouble themselves about their bodies. There was no 
^^ faculty" to apply for nor bishop's license to exhume the body. 
The custode or guardian who dwxlt within the in closure and 
had the key of the gate, seemed to have uncontrolled power 
within his domain, and scudi, impressed with the image of 
Saint Peter with the two keys, ruled him. Without more ado, 
masons v/ere hired, and two tombs built in the recess. In one 
of these, when completed, I deposited the box, with Shelley's 
ashes, and covered it in with solid stone, inscribed with a Latin 
epitaph, written by Leigh Hunt. I received the following note 
at Leghorn previous to burning the body : — 

'^DEAR TRELAWNY, ''Vi^.\,x^tAicgust, 1^2-2. 

'^ You will of course call upon us in your way to your melan- 
choly task ; but I write to say, that you must not reckon upon 
passing through Pisa in a very great hurry, as the ladies par- 
ticularly wish to have an evening, while you are here, for con- 
sulting further with us ; and I myself mean, at all events, to 
accompany you on your journey, if you have no objection. 

"" I subjoin the inscriptions — mere matter-of-fact memor- 
12 



265 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 

andums — according to the wish of the ladies. It will be for 
the other inscriptions to say more. 

*^ Yours sincerely, 

" Leigh Hunt. 

'^P.S. — Mrs. Shelley wishes very much that Capt. Roberts 
would be kind enough to write to his uncle about her desk, 
begging it to be forwarded as speedily as possible. If it is 
necessary to be opened, the best way will be to buy a key for 
that purpose ; but if a key is not to be had, of course it must 
be broken open. As there is something in the secret drawers, 
it will be extremely desirable that as few persons meddle with 
it as possible." 

*' Percy Bysshe wShelley, Anglus, gram Etruscam legens in 
NAViGiOLO inter Ligurnum portum et Viam Regiam, procellI 
periit viii. Non. Jul. mdcccxxii. ^tat. Su^ xxx. 

**.Edvardus Elliker Williams, Anglica stirpe ortus, India 
Orientali natus, a Ligurno portu in Viam Regiam navigiolo 
proficiscens, tempestate periit viii. Non. Jul. mdcccxxii. 

^TAT. SU^ xxx." 

" lo, SOTTOSCRITTA, PREGO LE AUTORITA DI VlA ReGGIO O LiVORNO DI CONSEGN- 
ARE AL SiGNORE OdOARDO TrELAWNY, InGLESE, LA B ARC A NOMINATaIl DoN JuAN, 
E TUTTA la sua CARICA, APPARTENENTE AL MIO MARITO, PER ESSERE ALLA SUA DIS- 

pozizioNE. Maria Shelley. 

" GenOVA, i6 SETT^re, 1822." 

To which I added two lines from Shelley's favorite play '^ The 
Tempest," 

** Nothing of him that doth fade, 
But doth suffer a sea change 
Into something rich and strange." 

The other tomb built merely to fill up the recess, was like- 
wise covered in in the same way — but blank without as within. 
I planted eight seedling cypresses. When I last saw them in 
1844, the seven which remained were about thirty- five feet in 
height. I added flowers as well. The ground I had purchased, 
I enclosed, and so ended mv task. 



RAISING SHELLEY'S BOAT. 267 

Raising Shelley's Boat. 

It is mentioned in my narrative, that when I left Leghorn, in 
the '^ Bohvar," to burn the bodies, I despatched two large feluc- 
cas, with ground-tackling to drag for Shelley's foundered boat, 
having previously ascertained the spot in which she had been 
last seen afloat. This was done for five or six days, and they 
succeeded in finding her, but failed in getting her up. I then 
wrote the particulars to my friend Capt. Roberts, who was 
still at Genoa, asking him to complete the business. He did 
so, whilst I went on to Rome, and, as wdll be seen by the 
following letters, he not only found, but got her up, and 
brought her into the harbor of Leghorn. 

Dear T. p^sa, Sept. 1822. 

We have got fast hold of Shelley^s boat, and she is now 
safe at anchor off Via Reggio. Everything is in her, and 
clearly proves, that she was not capsized. I think she must 
have been swamped by a heavy sea ; we found in her, two 
trunks, that of Williams containing money and clothes, and 
Shelley's, filled with books and clothes. 

Yours, very sincerely, 

Dan Roberts. 

DEAP T. Sept. 18, 1822. 

I consulted Ld. B., on the subject of paying the crews of 
the felucca employed in getting up the boat. He advised me 
to sell her by auction, and to give them half the proceeds of 
the sale. I rode your horse to Via Reggio. On Monday we 
had the sale, and only realized a trifle more than two hundred 
dollars. 

The two masts were carried away just above board, the bow- 
sprit broken off close to the bows, the gunwale stove in, 
and the hull half full of blue clay, out of which we fished 
clothes, books, spy-glass, and other articles. A hamper of 
wine that Shelley bought at Leghorn, a present for the harbor- 
master of Lerici, was spoilt, the corks forced partly out of the 



268 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 

bottles, and the wine mixed with the salt-water. You know, 
this is eftected by the pressure of the cold sea-water. 

We found in the boat two memorandum -books of Shelley's, 
quite perfect, and another damaged, a journal of Williams's, 
quite perfect, written up to the 4th of July. I washed the 
printed books, some of them were so glued together by the 
slimy mud, that the leaves could not be separated ; most of 
these things are now in Ld. B.'s custody. The letters, private 
papers, and Williams's journal, I left in charge of Hunt, as I 
saw there were many severe remarks on Ld. B. 

Ld. B. has found out, that you left at Genoa some of the 
ballast of the '' Bolivar," and he asked me to sell it for him. 
What a damned close calculating fellow he is. You are so 
bigoted in his favor that I will say no more, only God defend 
me from ever having anything more to do with him. 

P. S. — On a close examination of Shelley's boat, we find 
many of the timbers on the starboard quarter broken, which 
makes me think for certain, that she must have been run down 
by some of the feluccas in the squall. 

Dan Roberts. 



Byron's Shabbiness to Mrs. Shelley. 

All that were now left of our Pisan circle established them- 
selves at Albaro — Byron, Leigh Hunt, and Mrs. Shelley. I 
took up my quarters in the city of palaces. The fine spirit 
that had animated and held us together was gone ! Left to our 
own devices, we degenerated apace. Shelley's solidity had 
checked Byron's flippancy, and induced him occasionally to 
act justly, and talk seriously ; now he seemed more sordid and 
selfish than ever. He behaved shabbily to Mrs. Shelley ; I 
might use a harsher epithet. In all the transactions between 
Shelley and Byron in which expenses had occurred, and there 
were many, the former, as was his custom, had paid all, the 
latter promising to repay ; but as no one ever repaid Shelley, 
Byron did not see the necessity of his setting the example ; 



MRS. SHELLEY'S JOURNAL. 269 

and now that Mrs. Shelley was left destitute by her husband's 
death, Byron did nothing for her. He regretted this when too 
late, for in our voyage to Greece, he alluded to Shelley, say- 
ing, ^* Tre, you did what I should have done, let us square 
accounts to-morrow ; I must pay my debts." I merely ob- 
served, ^^ Money is of no use at sea, and when you get on shore 
you will find you have none to spare ; " he probably thought so 
too, for he said nothing more on the subject. 

Mrs. Shelley's Journal. 
'^ October 2^, 1822. — On the 8th of July I finished my jour- 
nal. This is a curious coincidence. The date still rem^ains — 
the fatal 8th — a monument to show that all ended then. And 
I begin again? Oh, never! But several motives induce me, 
when the day has gone down, and all is silent around me, 
steeped in sleep, to pen, as occasion wills, my reflections and 
feelings. First, I have no friend. For eight years I communi- 
cated, with unlimited freedom, with one whose genius far trans- 
cending mine, awakened and guided my thoughts. I conversed 
with him ; rectified errors of judgment ; obtained new lights 
from him ; and my mind was satisfied. Now I am alone — oh, 
how^ alone. The stars may behold my tears, and the winds 
drink my sighs ; but my thoughts are a sealed treasure, wdiich 
I can confide to none. But can I express all I feel ? Can I 
give words to thoughts and feelings that as a tempest hurry 
me along? Is this the sand that the ever-flowing sea of thought 
would impress indelibly ? Alas ! I am alone. No eye an- 
swers mine ; my voice can with none assume its natural modu- 
lation. What a change ! Oh, my beloved Shelley ! how often 
during those happy days — happy, though checkered — I thought 
how superiorly gifted I had been in being united to one to 
whom I could unveil myself, and who could understand me ! 
Well, then, I am now reduced to these white pages, which I am 
to blot with dark imagery. As I write, let me think what he 
would have said if, speaking thus to him, he could have an- 
swered me. Yes, my own heart, I would fain know what you 
think of my desolate state ; what you think I ought to do, what 



270 



PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 



to think. I guess you would answer thus : — ' Seek to know 
your own heart, and, learning what it best loves, try to enjoy 
that.' Well, I cast my eyes around, and looking forward to 
the bounded prospect in view, I ask myself what pleases me 
there. My child ; — so many feelings arise when I think of him, 
that I turn aside to think no more. Those I most loved are 
gone forever ; those who held the second rank are absent ; and 
among those near me as yet, I trust to the disinterested kind- 
ness of one alone. Beneath all this, my imagination ever flags. 
Literary labors, the improvement of my mind, and the enlarge- 
ment of my ideas, are the only occupations that elevate me 
from my lethargy ; all events seem to lead me to that one point, 
and the coursers of destiny having dragged me to that single 
resting-place, have left me. Father, mother, friend, husband, 
children — all made, as it were, the team that conducted me 
here ; and now all except you, my poor boy (and you are neces- 
sary to the continuance of my life), all are gone, and I am left 
to fulfil my task. So be it ! 

^' October ^th, — Well, they are come ; * and it is all as I 

said. I awoke as from sleep, and thought how I had vegetated 
these last days ; for feeling leaves little trace on the memory 
if it be, like mine, unvaried. I have felt for and with myself 
alone, and I awake now to take a part in life. As far as others 
are concerned, my sensations have been most painful. I must 
work hard amidst the vexations that I perceive are preparing 
for me — to preserve my peace and tranquillity of mind. I must 
preserve some, if I am to live ; for since I bear at the bottom 
of my heart a fathomless well of bitter waters, the workings of 
which my philosophy is ever at work to repress, what will be 
my fate if the petty vexations of life are added to this sense of 
eternal and infinite misery ? 

'' Oh, my child ! what is your fate to be ? You alone reach 
me ; you are the only chain that links me to time ; but for you 
I should be free. And yet I cannot be destined to live long ! 

* Leigh Hunt aud his family. — Ed. 



MRS. SHELLEY'S JOURNAL, 2/1 

Well, I shall commence my task, commemorate the virtues of 
the only creature worth loving or living for, and then, may be, 
I may join him. Moonshine may be united to her planet, and 
wander no more, a sad reflection of all she loved on earth. 

^^ October Jtk. — I have received my desk to-day, and have 
been reading my letters to mine own Shelley during his absences 
at Marlow. What a scene to recur to ! My William, Clara, 
Allegra, are all talked of. They lived then, they breathed this 
air, and , their voices struck on my sense; their feet trod the 
earth beside me, and their hands were warm with blood and 
life when clasped in mine. Where are they all ? This is too 
great an agony to be written about. I may express my despair, 
but my thoughts can find no words. 

* * * * * * 

*' I would endeavor to consider myself a faint continuation 
of his being, and, as far as possible, the revelation to the earth 
of what he was. Yet, to become this, I must change much, 
and above all I must acquire that knowledge, and drink at those 
fountains of wisdom and virtue, from which he quenched his 
thirst. Hitherto I have done nothing ; yet I have not been dis- 
contented with myself. I speak of the period of my residence 
here. For, although unoccupied by those studies which I have 
marked out for myself, my mind has been so active, that its 
activity, and not its indolence, has made me neglectful. But 
now the society of ethers causes this perpetual working of my 
ideas somewhat to pause ; and I must take advantage of this 
to turn my mind towards its immediate duties, and to deter- 
mine with firmness to commence the life I have planned. You 
will be with me in all my studies, dearest love ! Your voice 
will no longer applaud me, but in spirit you will visit and en- 
courage me ; I know you will. What were I, if I did not believe 
that you still exist ? It is not with you as with another. I be- 
lieve that we all live hereafter ; but you, my only one, were a 
spirit caged, an elemental being, enshrined in a frail image, 
now shattered. Do they not all with one voice assert the 
same ? Trelawny, Hunt, and many others ; and so at last you 



272 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, 

quitted this painful prison, and you are free, my Shelley — 
while I, your poor chosen one, am left to live as I may. 

'•What a strange life mine has been! Love, youth, fear, 
and fearlessness led me early from the regular routine of life, 
and I united myself to this being, who not one of //i", though 
like to us, was pursued by numberless miseries and annoy- 
ances, in all which I shared. And then I was the mother of 
beautiful children ; but these stayed not by me. Still he was 
there ; and though, in truth, after my William's death, this 
world seemed only a quicksand, sinking beneath my feet, yet 
beside me was this bank of refuge — so tempest-worn and frail, 
that me thought its very weakness was strength — and since 
Nature had written destruction on its brow, so the Power that 
rules human affairs had determined, in spite of Nature, that 
it should endure. But that is gone. His voice can no longer 
be heard ; the earth no longer receives the shadow of his form ; 
annihilation has come over the earthly appearance of the most 
gentle creature that ever yet breathed this air ; and I am still 
here — still thinking, existing, all but hoping. Well, I will close 
my book ; to-morrow I must begin this new life of mine. 

'^ October \<^th. — How painful all change becomes to one who, 
entirely and despotically engrossed by their own feelings, leads 
as it were an internal life, quite different from the outward and 
apparent one. Whilst my life continues its monotonous course 
within sterile banks, an undercurrent disturbs the smooth face 
of the waters, distorts all objects reflected in it, and the mind 
is no longer a mirror in which outward events may reflect them- 
selves, but becomes itself the painter and creator. If this per- 
petual activity has power to vary with endless change the every- 
day occurrences of a most monotonous life, it appears to be 
animated with the spirit of tempest and hurricane when any 
real occurrence diversifies the scene. Thus, to-night, a few 
bars of a known air seemed to be as a wind to rouse from its 
depths every deep-seated emotion of my mind. I would have 
given worlds to have sat, my eyes closed, and listened to them 
for vears. The restraint I was under caused these feelino^s to 



MRS. SHELLEY'S JOURNAL.. 273 

vary with rapidity ; but the words of the conversation, uninter- 
esting as they might be, seemed all to convey two senses to 
me, and, touching a chord w^ithin me, to form a music of which 
the speaker w^as little aware. I do not think that any person's 
voice has the same power of awakening melancholy in me as 
Albe's.* I have been accustomed, when hearing it, to listen 
and to speak little ; another voice, not mine, ever replied — a 
voice whose strings are broken. When Albe ceases to speak, 
I expect to hear that other voice, and, when I hear another in- 
stead, it jars strangely with every association. I have seen so 
little of Albe since our residence in Switzerland, and, having 
seen him there every day, his voice — a peculiar one — is en- 
graved on my memory with other sounds and objects from 
which it can never disunite itself. I have heard Hunt in com- 
pany and conversation w^ith many, when my own one was not 
there. Trelawny, perhaps, is associated in my mind with 
Edward more than with Shelley. Even our older friends, 
Peacock and Hogg, might talk together, or with others, and 
their voices would suggest no change to me. But, since in- 
capacity and timidity alw^ays prevented my mingling in the 
nightly conversations of Diodati, they were, as it were, entirely 
tete-a-tete between my Shelley and Albe ; and thus, as I have 
said, when Albe speaks and Shelley does not answer, it is as 
thunder without rain — the form of the sun without heat or light 
— as any familiar object might be shorn of its best attributes ; 
and I listen with an unspeakable melancholy that yet is not 
all pain. 

*' The above explains that w^hich would otherwise be an 
enigma, why Albe, by his mere presence and voice, has the 
power of exciting such deep and shifting emotions within me. 
For my feelings have no analogy either with my opinion of him, 
or the subject of his conversation. With another I might talk, 
and not for the moment think of Shelley — at least not think of 
him with the same vividness as if I were alone ; but, when in 
company with Albe, I can never cease for a second to have 

* Lord Byron. — Ed. 

12* 



2/4 



PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, 



Shelley in my heart and brain, with a clearness that mocks re- 
ality — interfering, even, by its force, with the functions of life 
— until, if tears do not relieve me, the hysterical feeling, anal- 
ogous to that which the murmur of the sea gives me, presses 
painfully upon me. 

" Well, for the first time for about a month, I have been in 
company with Albe for two hours, and, coming home, I write 
\his, so necessary' is it for me to express in words the force of 
my feelings. Shelley, beloved ! I look at the stars and at all 
nature, and it speaks to me of you in the clearest accents. 
Why cannot you answer me, my own one ? Is the instrument 
so utterly destroyed ? I would endure ages of pain to hear one 
tone of your voice strike on my ear. 

'^ Xovember loth. — I have made my first probation in writing, 
and it has done me much good, and I get more calm : the 
stream begins to take to its new channel inasmuch as to make 
me fear change. But people must know little of me who think 
that, abstractedly, I am content with my present mode of life. 
Activity of spirit is my sphere. But we cannot be active of 
mind A\dthout an object ; and I have none. I am allowed to 
have some talent — that is sufficient, methinks, to cause my ir- 
reparable misery ; for, if one has genius, what a delight it is 
to associate with a superior. Mine own Shelley ! the sun knows 
of none to be likened to you — brave, wise, gentle, noble- 
hearted, full of learning, tolerance, and love. Love ! what a 
word for me to write ! Yet, niy miserable heart, permit me 
yet to love — to see him in beauty, to feel him in beauty ; to be 
interpenetrated by the sense of his excellence ; and thus to 
love, singly, eternally, ardently, and not fruitlessly ; for I am 
still his — still the chosen one of that blessed spirit — still vowed 
to him forever and ever ! 

^^ November iifh. — It is better to grieve than not to grieve. 
Grief at least tells me that I was not always what I am now. I 
was once selected for happiness ; let the memory of that abide 



MRS. SHELLEY'S JOURNAL, 2/5 

by me. You pass by an old ruined house in a desolate lane, 
and heed it not. But, if you hear that that house is haunted 
by a wild and beautiful spirit, it acquires an interest and beauty 
of its own. 

'' I shall be glad to be more alone again ; one ought to see 
no one, or many ; and, confined to one society, I shall lose all 
energy except that which I possess from my own resources ; 
and I must be alone for these to be put in activity. 

^^ A cold heart ! Have I a cold heart? God know^s ! But 
none need envy the icy region this heart encircles ; and at least 
the tears are hot which the emotions of this cold heart forces 
me to shed. A cold heart ! Yes, it would be cold enough if 
all were as I wished it — cold, or burning in that flame for whose 
sake I forgive this, and would forgive every other imputation — 
that flame in which your heart, beloved, lay unconsumed. My 
heart is very full to-night ! 

'' I shall write his life, and thus occupy myself in the only 
manner from which I can derive consolation. That will be a 
task that may convey some balm. What though I weep ? All 
is better than inaction and — not forgetfulness — that never is — 
but an inactivity of remembrance. 

'' And you, my own boy ! I am about to begin a task which, 
if you live, will be an invaluable treasure to you in after times. 
I must collect my materials, and then, in the commemoration 
of the divine virtues of your father, I shall fulfil the only act of 
pleasure there remains for me, and be ready to follow you, if 
you leave me, my task being fulfilled. I have lived ; rapture, 
exultation, content, — all the varied changes of enjoyment, — 
have been mine. It is all gone ; but still, the airy paintings 
of what it has gone through float by, and distance shall not dim 
them. If I were alone, I had already begun what I have deter- 
mined to do ; but I must have patience, and for those events 
my memory is brass, my thoughts a never tired engraver. 
France — Poverty — A few days of solitude, and some uneasi- 
ness — A tranquil residence in a beautiful spot — Switzerland — 
Bath — Marlow — Milan — The Baths of Lucerne — Este — Venice 
— Rome — Naples — Rome and misery — Leghorn — Florence — 



276 



PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, 



— Pisa — Solitude — The Williamses — The Baths — Pisa : these 
are the heads of chapters, and each containing a tale romantic 
beyond romance. 

''I no longer enjoy, but I love ! Death cannot deprive me of 
that living spark which feeds on all given it, and which is now 
triumphant in sorrow. I love, and shall enjoy happiness again ; 
I do not doubt that — but when ? 

*' December '^i St. — So, this year has come to an end ! Shelley, 
beloved ! the year has a new name from any thou knewest. 
When spring arrives, leaves you never saw will shadow the 
ground, and flowers you never beheld will star it ; the grass 
will be of another growth, and the birds sing a new song ; the 
aged earth dates with a new number. 

'' I trust in a hereafter — I have ever done so. I know that 
that shall be mine — even with thee, glorious spirit ! who surely 
lookest on, pitiest, and lovest thy Mary. 

" I love thee, my only one ; I love nature ; and I trust that 
I love all that is good in my fellow-creatures. But how changed 
I am! Last year, having you, I sought for the affection of 
others, and loved them even when unjust and cold ; but now 
my heart is truly iced. If they treat me well, I am grateful. 
Yes, when that is, I call thee to witness in how w^arm a gush 
my blood flows to my heart, and tears to my eyes. But I am 
a lonely, unloved thing, serious and absorbed. None care to 
read my sorrow. 

'^ Sometimes I thought that fortune had relented towards us 
— that your health would have improved, and that fame and 
joy would have been yours ; for, when well, you extracted from 
nature alone an endless delight. The various threads of our 
existence seemed to be drawing to one point, and there to as- 
sume a cheerful hue. 

''' Again I think that your gentle spirit was too much wounded 
by the sharpnesses of this world ; that your disease was incur- 
able ; and that, in a happy time, you became the partaker of 
cloudless day, ceaseless hours, and infinite love. 

^* Thy name is added to the list which makes the earth bold 



MRS. SHELLEY'S JOURNAL. 277 

in her age, and proud of what has been. Time, with unwear- 
ied but slow feet, guides her to the goal that thou hast reached ; 
and I, her unhappy child, am advanced still nearer the hour 
when my earthly dress shall repose near thine, beneath the 
tomb of Cestius. 

'' February 2d .^ 1823. — On the 21st of January, those rites 
were fulfilled. Shelley ! my own beloved ! You rest beneath 
the blue sky of Rome ; in that, at least, I am satisfied. 

*^ What matters it that they cannot find the grave of my 
William ? That spot is sanctified by the presence of his pure 
earthly vesture, and that is suf^cient — at least, it must be. I 
am too truly miserable to dwell on what, at another time, might 
have made me unhappy. He is beneath the tomb of Cestius. 
I see the spot. 

^' Febriiary -^d. — A storm has come across me — a slight cir- 
cumstance has disturbed the deceitful calm of which I boasted. I 
thought I heard my Shelley call me — not my Shelley in Heaven, 
— but my Shelley, my companion in my daily tasks. I was 
reading; I heard a voice say, ^ Mary ! ' Mt is Shelley,'- I 
thought ; the revulsion was of agony. Never more 

'^ But I have better hopes and other feelings. Your earthly 
shrine is shattered, but your spirit ever hovers over me, or 
awaits me, when I shall be worthy to join it. To that spirit, 
which, when imprisoned here, yet showed by its exalted nature 
its superior derivation * 

'' February 2\tJi. — Evils throng around me, my beloved, and 
I have indeed lost all in losing thee. Were it not for my child, 
this would rather be a soothing reflection, and, if starvation 
were my fate, I should fulfil that fate without a sigh. But our 
child demands all my care, now that you have left us. I must 
be all to him : the father, death has deprived him of ; the re- 
lations, the bad world permits him not to have. What is yet 

* This sentence, like that at the end of the preceding paragraph, appears to have 
Deen left incomplete, — Ed. 



2/8 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, 

in store for me ? Am I to close the eyes of our boy, and then 
join you ? 

" The last weeks have been spent in quiet. Study could not 
give repose to, but somewhat regulated, my thoughts. I said : 
* I lead an innocent life, and it may become a useful one. I 
have talent, I will improve that talent ; and if, while meditat- 
ing on the wisdom of ages, and storing my mind with all that 
has been recorded of it, any new light bursts upon me, or any 
discovery occurs that may be useful to my fellows, then the 
balm of utility may be added to innocence.' 

*^ What is it that moves up and down in my soul, and makes 
me feel as if my intellect could master all but my fate ? I fear 
it is only youthful ardor — the yet untamed spirit, which, wholly 
withdrawn from the hopes, and almost from the affections, of 
life, indulges itself in the only walk free to it, and, mental exer- 
tion being all my thought, except regret, would make me place 
my hopes in that. I am, indeed, become a recluse in thought 
and act ; and my mind, turned Heavenward, would, but for 
my only tie, lose all commune with what is around me. If I 
be proud, yet it is with humility that I am so. I am not vain. 
My heart shakes with its suppressed emotions, and I flag be- 
neath the thoughts that possess me. 

^^Each day, as I have taken my solitary walk, I have felt 
myself exalted with the idea of occupation, improvement, 
knowledge, and peace. Looking back to my past life as a de- 
licious dream, I steeled myself, as well as I could, against such 
severe regrets as should overthrow my calmness. Once or 
twice, pausing in my walk, I have exclaimed, in despair — ^ Is 
it even so ? ' Yet, for the most^part resigned, I was occupied 
by reflection — on those ideas you, my beloved, planted in my 
mind — and meditated on our nature, our source, and our desti- 
nation. To-day, melancholy would invade me, and I thought 
the peace I enjoyed was transient. Then that letter came to 
place its seal on my prognostications.* Yet it was not the 

* Mrs. Shelley here alludes to a letter from Sir Timothy to Lord Byron (who had 
written to him on the subject), in which the baronet undertook to support his infant 
grandson, if the mother would part with him. — Ed. 



MRS. SHELLEY'S JOURNAL, 279 

refusal, or the insult heaped upon me, that stung me to tears. 
It was their bitter words about our boy. Why, I live only to 
keep him from their hands. How dared they dream that I 
held him not far more precious than all, save the hope of again 
seeing you, my lost one. But for his smiles, where should I 
now be ? 

^' Stars, that shine unclouded, ye cannot tell me what will 
be ! Yet can I ttW yoti a part. I may have misgivings, weak- 
nesses, and momentary lapses into unworthy despondency ; 
but — save in devotion towards my boy — fortune has emptied 
her quiver, and to all her future shafts I oppose courage, hope- 
lessness of aught on this side, with a firm trust in what is be- 
yond the grave. 

" Visit me in my dreams to-night, my beloved Shelley ! kind, 
living, excellent as thou wert ! and the event of this day shall 
be forgotten. 

''March \()th. — As I have until now recurred to this book, 
to discharge into it the overflowings of a mind too full of the 
bitterest waters of life, so will I to-night, that I am calm, put 
down some of my milder reveries ; that, when I turn it once, I 
may not only find a record of the most painful thoughts that 
ever filled a human heart even to distraction. 

'' I am beginning seriously to educate myself; and in another 
place I have marked the scope of this somewhat tardy educa- 
tion, intellectually considered. In a moral point of view, this 
education is of some years' standing, and it only now takes the 
form of seeking its food in books. I have long accustomed 
myself to the study of my Qwn heart, and have sought and 
found in its recesses that which cannot embody itself in words 
— hardly in feelings. I have found strength in the conception 
of its faculties — much native force in the understanding of them 
— and what appears to me not a contemptible penetration in 
the subtle divisions of good and evil. But I have found less 
strength of self-support, of resistance to what is vulgarly called 
temptation ; yet I think, also, that I have found true humility 
(for surely no one can be less presumptuous than I), an ardent 



28o PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 

love for the immutable laws of right, much native goodness of 
emotion, and purity of thought. 

'' Enough, if every day I gain a profounder knowledge of my 
defects, and a more certain method of turning them to a good 
direction. 

'' Study has become to me more necessary than the air I 
breathe. In the questioning and searching turn it gives to my 
thoughts, I find some relief to wild reverie ; in the self-satisfac- 
tion I feel in commanding myself, I find present solace ; in the 
hope that thence arises, that I may become more worthy of my 
Shelley, I find a consolation that even makes me less wretched 
in my most wretched moments. 

''March 30//^. — I have now finished part of the Odyssey. I 
mark this. I cannot write. Day after day I suffer the most 
tremendous agitation. I cannot write, or read, or think. 
Whether it be the anxiety for letters that shakes a frame not so 
strong as hitherto — whether it be my annoyances here — whether 
it be my regrets, my sorrow, and despair, or all these — I know 
not ; but I am a wreck. 

'' May ^\st. — The lanes are filled with fire-flies; they dart 
between the trunks of the trees, and people the land with earth- 
stars. I walked among them to-night, and descended towards 
the sea. I passed by the ruined church, and stood on the plat- 
form that overlooks the beach. The black rocks were stretched 
out among the blue waters, which dashed with no impetuous 
motion against them. The dark boats, with their white sails, 
glided gently over its surface, and the star-enlightened prom- 
ontories closed in the bay ; belo\^, amid the crags, I heard the 
monotonous, but harmonious, voices of the fishermen. 

^^ How beautiful these shores, and this sea! Such is the 
scene — such the waves within which my beloved vanished from 
mortality ! 

'' The time is drawing near when I must quit this country. 
It is true that, in the situation I now am, Italy is but the corpse 
of the enchantress that she was. Besides, if I had stayed here, 
the state of things would have been different. The idea of our 



MRS. SHELLEY'S JOURNAL, 28 1 

child's advantage alone enables nie to keep fixed in my resolu- 
tion to return to England. It is best for him — and I go. 

'' Four years ago, we lost our darling William ; four years 
ago, in excessive agony, I called for death to free me from all 
I felt that I should suffer here. I continue to live, and l/iou art 
gone. I leave Italy, and the few that still remain to me. That 
I regret less ; for our intercourse is [so] much checkered with 
all of dross that this earth so delights to blend with kindness 
and sympathy, that I long for solitude, with the exercise of 
such affections as still remain to me. Away, I shall be con- 
scious that, these friends love me, and none can then gainsay 
the pure attachment which chiefly clings to them, because they 
knew and loved you — because I knew them when with you — 
and I cannot think of them without feeling your spirit beside 
me. 

'' I cannot grieve for you, beloved Shelley ! I grieve for thy 
friends — for the world — for thy child — most for myself, en- 
throned in thy love, growing wiser and better beneath thy 
gentle influence, taught by you the highest philosophy — your 
pupil, friend, lover, wife, mother of your children ! The glory 
of the dream is gone. I am a cloud from which the light of 
sunset has passed. Give me patience in the present struggle. 
Meu?n cordium cor I Good-night ! 

' I would give 
All that I am to be as thou now art ; 
But I am chain' d to time, and cannot thence depart.' " 





^M§ 


H 


^^ 




^^^^3 



INDEX 



Ass, Adventure with, 37. 

Atheist, Shelley as an, 42. 

Atheism, The Necessity of, 82. What it 

did for Shelley, 86. What it did for 

Hogg, 89. 

Babies, Shelley's notion about, 70. 

Browne, Felicia Dorothea, Shelley corre- 
sponds with, 6. 

Byron, Lord, Shelley reads his "English 
JJards and Scotch Reviewers," 94. Inti- 
macy with Jane Clairmont, 206. Re- 
sult of intimacy, 206. What he did, 
206. Influence of Shelley, 213. Tre- 
lawny's first meeting with, 216. Con- 
versation with Trelawny, 217. Personal 
appearance, 218. Firing at a mark, 
219. Conversation with Shelley, 219. 
Praises Swift, 220. "Don Juan," 221. 
Warned against Shelley, 221. "If we 
puffed the Snake," 221. Real opinion 
of Shelley, 222. Remark to Trelawny, 
223. What he called Shelley, 223. 
Contrasted with Shelley, 225. Deter- 
mines to have a yacht, 241. Daily rou- 
tine, 243. Working on his fears, 249. 
Treatment of Teigh Hunt, 250. Re- 
ception of Mrs. Hunt, 250. Row with 
soldiers, 252, At the grave of Wil- 
liams, 260. "Don't repeat this with 
me," 261. Ill with swimming, 262. At 
the grave of Shelley, 263. Wants 
Shelley's skull, 263. A close, calculat- 
ing fellow, 268. Shabbiness to Mrs. 
Shelley, 268. Debts, 269. 

Clairmont Jane, her independent life, 191. 
Christens herself " Claire," 191. Inju- 
dicious influence on Mary Godwin, 193. 
Godwin talks to her, T94. Elopes with 
Shelley and Mary Godwin, 194. Re- 
fuses to return with her mother, 195. 
Returns with the fugitives, 206. Meets 
Lord Byron at Sicheron, 206. What 



she had wished to become, 206. Gives 
birth to Byron's Allegra, 206. What 
Byron did for her, 206. 
Curran, John Philpot, pays no attention 
to Godwin's letter of introduction, 131. 
Shelley fails to see him, 132. 

Elephantiasis, Shelley's dread of, 168. 

" Gebir," Shelley's admiration for, 64. 
What befel his copy, 64. 

Godwin, Mary WoUstonecraft, considered 
a child, 191. Character of, 192. Ac- 
quaintance with Shelley. 193. Shelley 
falls in love with her, 193. Unhappy at 
home, 193. Mrs. Godwin's remark to, 
193. Reads by her mother's grave, 194. 
Her father talks with her, 194. Elopes 
with Shelle^'^ and Jane Clairmont, 194. 
Displeasure of her father, 195. Harriet 
Shelley's opinion of, 199. Receives a 
letter from her father, 205. Married to 
Shelley, 205. Birth of her first child, 
206. Introduced to Trelawny, 216. 
Threatens Shelley with a party, 224. 
Williams intercedes with her, 225. 
"Don't tell Mary," 227. Looking for 
Shelley with Trelawny, 230. "What a 
wild goose you are, Percy," 232. Ac- 
count of Byron's row, 253. " Is there 
no hope ? " 258. Byi'on's shabbiness to, 
268. Extracts from Journal, 269. 

Godwin, William. Shelley introduces him- 
self to, 130. Gives Shelley a letter o( 
introduction to Curran, 131. Advice to 
Shelley, 131. Hogg's acquaintance 
with, 172. Hogg invited to dine with 
him, 172. Personal appearance, 173. 
Inquiries about Shelley's absence. 173. 
Hogg's reply, 173. Goes to dinner 
with Hogg, 173. Dietetics, 174. Goes 
to sleep, 174. Anxious about Shelley, 
174. Discourses about Homer, 174. 
Questions Hogg about Shelley, 175. 



2H 



INDEX. 



Speaks disparagingly of his " Political 
Justice/' 175. More anxiety about 
Shelley, 175. Hogg is reprehended by 
him, 176. Shelley's curiosity about 
him, 176. Shelley calls with Hogg, 
179. Father out, daughter in, 179. 
First mention of Shelley in his Diary, 
187. Letter from Shelley, 188. Letter 
to his wife, 189. Dines the Shelleys, 

191. Character of his two daughters, 

192. Blindness as to what was going 
on, 194. Talks with Mary, 194. Elope- 
ment of Mary, Shelley, and Jane Clair- 
mont, 194. Dispatches his wife in pur- 
suit, 194. Irritation and displeasure, 
195. Writes a letter to Mary, 204. 
Present with his wife at the marriage of 
Mary and Shelley, 206. 

ilalliday, Walter S., Reminiscences of 
Shelley, 14. 

Hogg. 'J'homas Jefferson, first meeting 
with Shelley 17. Differs with him, 
17. Invites Shelley to his rooms, 17. 
Confesses his ignorance, 17. Questions 
Shelley, 18. l3escribes Shelley's per- 
sonal appearance, 18. His ears excori- 
ated by Shelley's voice, 19. Invites 
Shelley to tea, 20. Listens to Shelley's 
discourses, 21. Lights Shelley down 
stairs, 22. Goes to bed worn out, 23. 
Visits Shelley in his rooms, 24. T)e- 
sciibes Shelley's rooms, 25. A lucky 
hit, 31. Abstracts Shelley's powder 
flask, flints, etc., 32. Persuades Shelley 
for once. 34. How he lost his supper, 
36. Adventure with an ass, 37. Re- 
mark to Shelley about his reading, 40. 
Asks Shelley a pertinent question, 44. 
Calls upon Stockdale, 54. Stockdale's 
inquisitiveness, 54. Shelley takes up 
the cudgel for him, 55. Letter to 
Dawson Turner, 60. Shelley copies a 
poem for him, 63. He was to fall in love 
with Elizabeth vShelley, 64. Snatches 
" Gebir" from Shelley's hands, 64. 
Remark of Landorto, 64. On Shelley's 
Latinity, 65. Shelley's new suit, 66. 
A country walk, 6^. Adventure with a 
mastiff, 66. Saves Shelley's skirts, 68. 
Nonplusses an angry Irishman, 69. 
Adventure with Shelley, 70. With I 
Shelley at a pawnbroker's, 72. Reads j 
Shelley's proofs, 74. Criticises them, j 
74. Makes alterations, 75. Hits upon j 
a title, 76. Reads metaphysics with ^ 
Shelley. 79. Hears Shelley's story of j 
his expulsion, 86. Writes a note to the 1 
college authorities, 87. Called before ' 
them, 88. Refuses to answer their j 
qriestions, 89. Commanded to quit col- I 



lege, 89. Goes to London with Shelley, 
91. Lodgings, 92, Goes with Shelley 
to see his sister, 93. Dines in Garden 
Court, 95. Shelley's description of his 
father, 96. Answer to Shelley, 97. 
Questioned by Shelley's father, 97. 
Behavior of the old baronet. 98. Ques- 
tioned by him, 99. Listens to his argu- 
ments, 99. "Not such a bad fellow 
after all," 99. Shelley's confidant in 
T-e Harriet Westbrook, 102. Lends 
Shelley £,\o, 104. Opinion of Harriet, 
104. Visits the Shelleys in Edinburgh, 
106. Description of Mrs. Shelley, 106. 
At Holyrood House, 107. On Arthur's 
seat, 107. Lodgings in George street, 
108. A stroll in Prince's street, no. 
Questioned by an old gentlewoman, 
no. In kirk with Shelley, in. The 
Catechist, 113. Opinion of Harriet's 
education, 113. Character of her read- 
ing, 1T4. Harriet's description of her 
sister Eliza, 116. Arrival of Eliza, 116, 
Makes tea for the ladies, 117. Paints 
the portrait of the fair Eliza, 117. Who 
was Miss Warne ? 118. What does dear 
Eliza do ? 119. Harriet's answer, 119. 
Talks with Shelley about Southey's 
books, 121. Dines on bacon with Shel- 
ley, 128. Sudden visit from Shelley in 
London, 146. Alarm of his special 
pleader, 147. Gets rid of Shelley at 
last, 148. Visits Harriet, 148. Ques- 
tioned about Robert Emmett, 149. 
Opinion of Emmett, 149. Dines with 
the Shelleys, 149. A startling letter from 
Shelley, 151. Letters from Shelley and 
Harriet, 151. Opinion of the attempted 
assassination of Shelley, 154. A delicate 
position, 157. Dining and teaing with 
Harriet, 158. Shelley comes tumbling 
up stairs, 158. Dii>es with a would-be 
suicide, 160. Makes a queer visit with 
Shelley. i6t. Conversation with a 
clergyman's wife, 164. Description of 
a Shelleyan dinner, 165. Remark to the 
pap-eating Shelley. 166, '' Poor Matil- 
da ! " 168. Shelley's delusion, 170. 
Taken for Shelley. 171. Talk with the 
bailiffs, 171. Excuses and apologies, 172. 
What the arrest was for, 172. Invited 
to dine with Godwin, 172. Describes 
Godwin, 173. Anxiety of Godwin, 173. 
The Godwin dinner, 174. Godwin 
after dinner, 174. Godwin still anxious, 
174. Conversation with Godwin, 174. 
Godwin more and more anxious, 175. 
Praises '" Political Justice," 175. Shel- 
ley's questions, 176. Harriet does not 
let him see the baby, 177. Goes shop- 
ping with Harriet, 178. Visits God- 



INDEX. 



28 = 



win's house with Shelley, 179. " Shel- 
ley ! " *' Mary ! " 179. "Who was that, 
pray?" 179. 
Hunt, Leigh, Byron s easremess for his 
arrival, 249. Byron's vile treatment of, 
250. At the grave of Shelle^'-, 263. 
Note to Trelawny, 265. 

Jew, The Wandering, letter of Shelley 
concerning his poem of, 48. Reply of 
Ballantyne & Co., 48. Letter to Stock- 
dale concerning, 51. Stock dale's anx- 
iety about, 53. Shelley commences a 

* prose story upon it, 58. PVagment of 
this story, 56. 

Keate, Dr., appearance and character, 15. 

Shut out of his desk, 16. What the 

scholars saw, 16. 
** Kcnx Ompax," Hogg nonplusses an 

Irishman with, 69. 

Landor, Walter Savage, remark to Hogg, 

64. . . 

Lewis, Matthew Gregory, plagiarized 

from, 47. 
Lind, Dr., Shelley's description of, 12. 

Saves Shelley from a madhouse, 13. 

What he taught Shelley, 44. 

MacCarthy, Dennis Florence, on a state- 
ment of Hogg's, 26. On a statement of 
Stockdale's, 46. On Hogg's recollec- 
tions of " iSIargaret Nicholson," 75. On 
"The Necessity of Atheism," 82. On 
Harriet Grove, 90. Anecdote of Shelley, 
105. On the attempted assassination of 
Shelley, 155. On Shelley's child and 
his singing, 177. 

Marriage, Shelley's second, 197. 

Medwin, Thomas, enthusiasm for Shelley, 



Nicholson, Margaret, who she was, 76. 
Hogg's bright idea, 76. Poetical re- 
mains of, 77. Success of the hoax, 79. 

Oxford, Earl of, puts a question to Shelley, 
158. 

Paley, Dr. William, who he had his ar- 
guments from. 99. 

Paul, Rev. Kegan, on the unkindness of 
Harriet's father, 202. 

Pawnbroker, a, Shelley's interview with, 
72. 

Peacock, Thomas Love, on Shelley's ex- 
pulsion from Oxford, 36. Differs with 
Lady Shelley, 177. On Shelley, Harriet, 
and Mary, 198. Description of Harriet, 
200. 



Roberts, Captain Daniel, Trelawny writes 
to, 241. Obtains permission to build a 
boat, 242. Protests against Williams's 
plan, 244. Note to Trelawny, 267. 
Letter about Shelley's boat, 267. 

Rossetti. William Michael, on Shelley's 
assassination, 155. Singular anecdote 
of Shelley, 201. 

Shelley, Elizabeth, poem by, 62. 

Shelley, Harriet, Hogg's description of, 
106. At Holyrood House, 107. On 
Arthur's seat, 107. Unwillingness to 
show her ankles, 107. " Send her awa^-, 
Harriet," 109. Persuades in vain, 11:;. 
Well educated, 113. Inclination for 
reading, 114. Music, 114. Reading 
aloud, 114. What the ladies said of her, 
115. Stigmatizes her drowsy lord, 115. 
Describes her sister to Hogg, 116. 
"Eliza has come," 116. Sipping tea, 
117. What her father was called, 117. 
A seraphic life, 118. ''Think of your 
nerves," 118. Whispers to Hogg. 119. 
Remark of Shelley to, 119. Talks of 
committing suicide, 120. Remark to 
Hogg, 128. Ready to die of laughter, 
134. Cordial greeting of Hogg. 148. 
"You are so horribly narrow-minded." 
149. Letter to Hogg, 151. Letter to 
Hogg about Shelley's attempted assas- 
sination, 152. "As ladies wish to be," 
156. Ts seen by Dr. S., 157. " He has 
seen me," 157. Complains that she is 
unhappy, 159. Entertains a model 
guest, 160. No notion of a dinner. 164. 
Orders Shelley to buy some buns, 167. 
Her child, 177. Shopping with Hogg, 
178. Loses her husband, 194. Why 
did Shelley desert her? 196. .Statement 
of T,ady Shelley concerning, 196. Dis- 
proved by Peacock, 197. Certificate of 
her second marriage to Shelley, 197. 
Peacock's statement concerning, 198 
Visited by Peacock, 199. Her opinion 
of Mary Godwin, 199. Peacock's recol- 
lections of, 200. Shelley wanted to take 
her back, 202. Little known of her after 
life, 202. What Thornton Hunt wrote, 
202. Hardship of her father, 202. I^e 
Quincy's opinion of, 203. Drowns her- 
self 203. 

Shelley, Hellen. Miss, letters to Lady 
Shelley about Shelley's childhood, 1-12. 
" Oh ! there is little Hellen ! " 93. 

Shelley, John, playing with his brother 
Percy, 3. Taught to say " Debbee," 4. 

Shelley, Percy Bysshe, family, i. Nur- 
sery pranks, 2. Telline stories, 2. The 
alchemist, 2. The grent tortoise, 2. 
Playing with fire, 2. Electrifies his sis- 



286 



INDEX, 



ters, 3. His memory, 3. vSpoutmg 
Latin, 3, Playing with his brother 
John, 3. "Debbee," 4. Kisses sister 
Margaret, 4. With his sisters in the 
fields, 4. Eton attire, 5. An imaginary 
visit, 5. Poetizing at night, 5. Satir- 
izes a French teacher, 5. " The very 
bold boy our broder must be," 6. Sends 
a play to Matthews, 6. Corresponds 
with Felicia Dorothea Browne, 6. Ad- 
miration of Monk Lewis, 6. Astonished 
at sister Hellen's learning, 6. Prints 
her poetry, 7. Wishes to educate a 
child, 7. Angry at a school mistress, 7. 
Harriet Grove quiets his wildness, 8. 
Carefully watched by his sister, 8. 
Why he and Harriet Grove were not 
married, 8. Disguised as a country- 
man, 9. Hay-tea for chilblains, 9. Pre- 
tends that he wants to be a game-keeper, 
9. Personal appearance, 9. Poem on 
a cat, 10. At Sion House, 11. Char- 
acter of his master, 11. His singing, 

11. Eccentric quantity of hair, 11. At 
Eton, 12. Acquaintance with Dr. Lind, 

12. His father thinks of sending him to 
a madhouse, 12. Sends an express to 
Dr. Lind, 13. Dr. I^ind rescues him, 

13. Studies magic and watches for 
ghosts, 13. Tries to raise the devil, 14. 
Rambles with a school-fellow, 14. Not 
made for rough pastimes, 14. Power of 
Latin versification, 14. Love of nature, 
15. Declines to join in boyish sports, 
15. Dislikes Dr. Keate, 16. First ap- 
pearance at Oxford, 17. Discusses Ger- 
man literature with Hogg, 17. Invited 
to Hogg's rooms, 17. Confesses that 
he knows nothing of German, 17. Dis- 
courses about chemistry, 18. Hogg's 
portrait of, 18, Rubbing his hair, 19. 
His voice, 19. Goes to a lecture on 
mineralogy, 20. "About stones ! about 
stones ! " 20. Declaims about chemis- 
try, 21. Declaims about souls, etc., 22. 
His hasty steps, 22. Hogg visits him, 
23. No notion of time, 24. Annoyed 
by the scout, 24. Disorder of his rooms, 
25. Enthusiastic about electricity, 26. 
Hogg spends the evening with, 26. His 
fits and starts, 27. Effects of his ex- 
periments, 28. Diverted at Hogg's 
caution, 28. Thinks his constitution 
impaired by poison, 29. Intimacy with 
Hogg, 29. Fondness for fire, 30. His 
profound torpor, 30. Practices with 
pistols, 31. Astonished at Hogg's shot, 
31. Carelessness with pistols, 32. Of- 
fended because his pistols were out of 
order, 32. Poetizing by an old pool, 33. 
Splashes stones in the water, 33. Makes 



ducks and drakes, 33. Delights in sail- 
ing paper boats, 34. *' The Demiurgus 
of Plato," 34. The value of waste paper, 
34, A mythic fable, 35. Dislikes the 
public dinner, 35. Upsets Hogg's sup- 
per, 36. Don't like cheese, 36. Moon- 
ing about moonlight, 37. A mysterious 
search, 37. Finds his dessert, 37. Ad- 
venture with a boy and an ass, 37. As 
a reader, 39, Remarks of Hogg about 
his reading, 40. Extent of his Greek, 
40. Fondness for bread, 41. General di- 
etetics, 42. Questioned by two Etonians, 
42. What he was called at Eton, 43. 
Refuses to curse his father and the king, 

44. His grandfather and his tutor, 44. 
Early writings, 44. Stockdale's recol- 
lections of, 45. In pecuniary trouble, 

45. " Victor and Cazire," 45. Letters 
to Stockdale, 46. Some one a plagiarist, 

46. Letter about "The Wandering 
Tew," 48. Letter of Messrs. Bailantyne 
to, 48. Orders a book of Stockdale, 49. 
" St. Irvyne," 49. Short of money, 50. 
Explains the plot of "St. Irvyne," 50. 
Inquires after " The Wandering Jew," 
51. Presentations of his romance, 52. 
Stockdale uneasy about him, 53. In 
debt to Stockdale, 54. Stockdale re- 
monstrates with him, 55. Angry letter 
to Stockdale, 55. Asks for his account, 
56. No finances, 56. Offers Stockdale 
a copyright, 57. Books he read at Ox- 
ford. 57. A literary fiction, 58. Frag- 
ment of ''The Wandering jew," 59. 
Rough draft of a poem by, 60. Unfin- 
ished Oxford verses, 61. Copies his 
sister's verses for Hogg, 63. Proposes 
that Hogg should love his sister, 64. 
Admiration of " Gebir," 64. His Latin- 
ity, 64. In a new suit, 66. Adventure 
with a mastiff, 66. The tail of the new 
suit, 67. Vows to shoot the mastiff, 67. 
Hedging the skirts, ^-j . Hogg saves 
them for him, 68. The coat repaired, 
68. "I have said Konx ojnpax^^'' 70. 
Holding a baby, 70. An odd question, 
71. He can speak if he will, 71. Pro- 
voking closeness of new-born babes. 71. 
At a pav/nbroker's, 72. Why he pawned 
his solar microscope, 73. Redemption 
of the microscope, 73. "I am going to 
publish some poems," 74. Hogg's criti- 
cism of the proofs, 74. " I will alter 
them," 75, Hogg helps to write them 
over, 75. Hogg hits upon a title for 
them, 76. Shelley's delight at being in 
print, 77, Prints a little book, 79. 
Anxious for letters, 80. Anonymous in- 
quirers, 80. A trap for correspondents, 
81. Q. E. D., 81. "The Necessity of 



INDEX, 



>87 



Atheism," 82. Love of truth at all haz- 
ards, 83. His meek seriousness, 84. 
Expulsion from the University, 85. 
Conversation with his master, 86. His 
emotion, 87. Goes with Hogg to Lon- 
don, gi. At tea with his cousins, 91. 
Hunting for lodgings, 92. Takes a 
lodging in Poland Street, 92. "Stay 
forever ! " 92. About grapes, 92. Visits 
his sister at school, 93. Buys " English 
Bards and Scotch Reviewers." 93. His 
opinion of it, 94. Dines in Garden Court, 
95. Disgusted with one of the guests, 96. 
Describes his father to Hogg. 96. Finds 
Voltaire amusing, 96. "What do you 
think of my father?" 97. Wild 
with laughter, 97. Goes on an 
errand for his father, 97. What 
he had heard before, 99. '' Always 
calls him Palley," 100. His affair with 
Harriet Grove, loi. " She abhors me 
as a sceptic," loi. Makes the acquain- 
tance of Harriet Westbrook, loi. Ref- 
erences to her in his letters, 102. Walks 
with her sister, 102. '' Consistency thou 
art," 102, Visits Harriet Westbrook, 

102. Discusses the Misses Westbrook, 

103. Effect of his advice to Miss Har- 
riet, 103. Material prospects, 103. The 
wooing, 104. Remark of Southey to, 

105. Elopes with Miss Harriet, 105. 
Marriage in Edinburgh, 105. After the 
marriage supper, 105. Visited by Hogg, 

106. Hogg must lodge with them, 106. 
Goes home to write letters, 107. Agon- 
ized by the servant-girl, 108. ^ Send her 
away, Harriet ! " 109. Eond of honey, 
109. A fiendish laugh for Sunday, no. 
Dejection at kirk, tii. Another fiend- 
ish laugh, 113. Drops off asleep, 115. 
What he should have done with Miss 
Eliza, ii8. "What would Miss Warne 
say?" 119. Among Southey's books, 
121. His opinion of Southey, 122. 
Southey reads his epic to him, 125. Re- 
sult of the reading, 125. Takes tea at 
Southey' s, 126. "Why, good God, 
Southey I " 127. Mrs. Southey short 
as pie crust, 127. Devours her cakes 
greedily,i27. " So, this is bacon ! " 128. 
"Bring more bacon'!" 128. "She 
ought to be killed ! " 129. Goes to Ire- 
land, 129. His object in going, 129. 
Excites a sensation of wonder, 130. In- 
troduces himst-lf to Godwin, 130. God- 
win sends a letter to Curran, 131. "Ad- 
dress to the Irish People," 131. Letter 
to Hamilton Rowan, 132. How he dis- 
tributed his address, 133. What Har- 
riet thought of it, 134. His servant's 
lie about his age, 135. The famous bal- 



cony, 136. Attends a meeting in Fish- 
amble street, 137. Mention of by a 
police reporter, 138. His speech in 
brief, 139. Fuller report of it, 140. 
Hissed when he spoke of religion, 141. 
As an orator, 142. Described by "An 
Englishman," 142. First public notice 
of, 144. Rushes in upon Hogg in Lon- 
don, 146. Thinks Hogg's special plead- 
er an ass, 148. Thunders up stairs, 
149. What about his Irish trip? 150. 
Escapes assassination, 151. Letter to 
Hogg, 151. Description of the affair by 
Harrier, 152. What Mr. Luson thought 
of it, 153. What Hogg thought also, 
154. The promise of an heir, 156. 
Questioned by the Earl of Oxford, 158. 
Entertains a would-be suicide, 160. 
Takes Hogg to a queer house, 161, 
Episode of a heavy old woman, 162. 
"All murthered ! " 162. "Guard, let 
me out ! " 163. Aghast at the thought 
of dinner, 163. A poetic dinner, 164. 
Tracked by crumbs, 165. Shooting pel- 
lets of bread, 165. Cramming with 
panada, 166. "I lap up the blood of 
the slain," 166. Starvation prevented by 
penny buns, 167. The agile bun-car- 
rier, 168. Imposed upon, 168. Dread 
of an old woman, 168. Dread of ele- 
phantiasis, 169. Examination of 
breasts and arms, 169. Inspects Hogg 
daily, 170. The delusion vanishes, 170. 
Hogg is taken for him, 171. Godwin 
waits dinner for him, 173. He cometh 
not, 175. Questions Hogg, 176. Has a 
little daughter, 176. Calls at Godwin's 
with Hogg, 179. " Shelley ! " '' Mary ! '* 
179. Last visit to Field Place, 180. 
What might have been, t8o. Fondness 
of his mother, 180. Appearance and 
disposition, 181. Doffs his black coat 
and dons a uniform, 182. Captain 
Jones, 182. Eloquent an(5 enthusiastic, 

182. Horror of taking life, 182. As a 
musician, 183. Early recollections of, 

183. Attachment to Harriet Grove, 
183. At Lincoln's Inn Fields, 183. Dis- 
solution of engagement, 184. Delighted 
with anatomy, 184. Refuses to become 
a politician, 185. Off from the Green 
Dragon, 186. Disguised as a beggar, 
186. High spirits," 187. Prints a little 
satire, 187. P^irst notice of in Godwin's 
Diaries, 187. Letter to Godwin, 188. 
Invites Grodwin to visit him in the coun- 
try, 189. Leaves three weeks before he 
arrives, 189. Leaves in debt, 191. 
Dines with Godwin in London, 191. 
Becomes acquainted with Mary God- 
win, 193. Unhappy with his wife, 193, 



288 



INDEX, 



Falls in love with ]Man^ 193. Receives 
a letter from Godwin. 194. Elopes with 
INIary and her half-sister, 194. A fat 
lady follows him. 195. A strange honey- 
moon, 195, Why did he desert his 
wife ? 196. What Lady Shelley says, 
196. What Mar\- Shelley wrote, 
196. Mysterious papers, 197. What 
Peacock discovered, 197. Descrip- 
tion of his passion for his new love, 198. 
Takes laudanum and quotes Sophocles, 
199. His opinion of his old love, 199. 
What Peacock has proved, 200. Wants 
Harriet to live in the same house, 202. 
Suicide of Harriet Sheliey, 203. Letter 
to Godwin, 204. Marries ]Mar\- God- 
win, 205. Meets Byron at Sicheron, 

206. Returns to England, 206. Re- 
turns to Italy, 206. " Queen Mab," 

207. A priest's denunciation, 208. 
Wordsworth's opinion of "' The Cenci," 
210. Williams's description of, 212. Sug- 
gestions to Ij^Ton, 213. " Come in, 
Shelle^'," 215. Translating Calderon, 
215. Goes like a spirit, 216. Reads 
Byron's versicles, 217. Shooting at a 
mark, 219. Conversation with Byron, 
219. The Snake, 221. '" If we puffed 
the Snake." 221. B^-ron's opinion of, 222. ! 
Discouragen^.ent, 222. In the affairs of 1 
others, 222. Poetic picture of himself. 
223. •• The Snake has fascinated you," 

223. ]Mental activity' infectious, 224. 
'" Mary sa^'s she will have a party." j 

224. Hops off rejoicing, 225. His daily j 
life, 225. Indifferent about himself 226. 
In danger of drowning, 227. "Don't 
tell Mar}',-' 227. Doubts the immortal- | 
ity of the soul, 227. Why he called ' 
himself an atheist, 227. Reading all | 
day, 228. Forgets he has had no din- • 
ner, 228. Proposition of an Italian, 229. | 
Hooted out of his country-. 229. He is j 
never stoppJfed, 229. Seeks the water, 1 
230. •' L'Inglese malincolico." 231. In j 
the woods maledetta, 231. The three 
pines, 232. " Poor Mar>' ! " 232. 
"What a wild goose you are," 232. ^ 
Wild flights of mirth. 233. Manner of j 
writing, 233. Why he published, 233. 
Writing a play, 234. Opinion of " Don | 
Juan," 234. "Prometheus " original, I 
234. His special vanity, 234. No fears, i 
and some hopes, 235. " Shelley ! that ' 
bright-eyed youth," 235. " Poor boy ! " j 
236. On the San Spiridione, 237. ! 
Reminded of hell, 237. Conversation I 
with an American mate, 238. Opinion 
of Washington, 239. Writing to authors, ; 
239. His friends, 240, Talks of ships 
and sailors, 240. Resolves to have a 



boat. 241, House on the Gulf of Spez- 
zia, 242. Habits. 243. Eagerness for 
his boat, 243. The boat finished, 244. 
Letters to Trelawn^*, 245. No seaman, 

248. " Shelley, you can't steer," 248. 
" Gone down with the rest of the pigs." 

249. Goes with the Hunts to Pisa, 249. 
Returns to Leghorn, 249. Note to '1 re- 
lawny, 253. Goes to his bankers, 253, 
Starts with Williams for home, 253. 
The body found, 256. The books that 
were with it, 256. Opening the grave, 
261. Burning the body, 263. Heart of 
hearts, 264, Where he was buried, 265. 
Inscriptions on, 266. Raising his boat, 
267. 

Shelley Timothy, M.P., Stockdale's opin- 
ion of, 50. How he alienated his son, 50. 
Note to Stockdale, 55. Calls on Stock- 
dale, 56. What Shelley told Hogg, 96. 
Conversation with Hogg about Shelley, 
97. ^^'ants more wine at dinner. 98. 
Behavior and importance, 98. " There 
is certainly a God," 98. Questions 
Hogg, 99. Reads to him, 99. Hogg's 
reply, 99. " They are Palle^^s argu- 
ments," 99. " Not such a bad fellow," 
99. Exit, 99. 

Stockdale, J. J., extricates Shelley from a 
pecuniar)^ trouble, 45. Receives the 
sheets of a volume of poems, 45. The 
authors, 45. Advertises the work, 45. 
Opinion of Shelley. 46. Letter from 
Shelley, 46. Discovers a plagiarism in 
the volume, 47. Unsold copies destroy- 
ed. 47. Letter from Shelley, 48. Shel- 
ley inquires after a dangerous book, 49. 
Anxious about Shelley, 49. opinion 
of Shelley's father, 50. I^etter from 
Sheile^', 50. Letter from Shelley- about 
"St. lr\yne," 51. Letters from Shel- 
ley, 51-53. More anxious about Shel- 
l^v, 53. Hints to the eider Shelley, 53. 
What he lost by Shelley, 54. The work 
of the destroyer. 54. Visited by Hogg, 
54. Mrs. Stockdale's knowledge, 54. 
Shelley suspended by a hair, 54. Rep- 
resentations to Shellej' 55. Angr\' let- 
ter from Shelley, 55. Note from the 
elder Shelley, 55. Visit from, 56. Let- 
ters from Shelley, 56. 

Sou they, Mrs. Edith, who she was, 123. 
Binding her husband's books, 123. Her 
marriage, 123. Her wonderful seed- 
cakes, 126. Refused by Shelley, 126. 
Devoured by her husband, 126. Sharp 
reply to Shelley, 127. How the wonder- 
ful cakes were made, 127. Shelley 
^r< edily devours them, 127. Pac.iit.-, 
the lady, 127. 

Southey, Robert, Shelley curious to see 



INDEX. 



289 



one of his epics, 51, His houseful of 
books, 121. Curious conduct to Shel- 
ley, 121. Shows Shelley remarkable 
passages, 122. A living commonplace 
book, 122. Bindmg of his books, 123. 
Every hour has its employment, 123. 
Pre-arrangement of time, 123. " When 
dost thou think, friend/" 124. Cap- 
tures Shelley, 125. Reads an epic to 
him, 125. Its effect, 126. Custom in 
travelling, 125. Eating buttered seed- 
cakes, 126. Shelley's disgust, 127. 
Matched by Shelley in eating, 127. 

Trelawny, Capt. E. J., meets an intelli- 
gent bookseller at Lausanne, 207. He 
translates the German ptjets for him, 
207. Hears abt)ut " (^ueen Mab." 
207. Meets an English party, 208. 
Their appearances, 208. An English- 
man's growl, 209. What he thought of 
Shelley as a poet, 2 10. What his Scotch 
terrier was, 210. Who the Englishman 
was, 210. Meets three young men, 211. 
Hears about Shelley from Medwin, 211. 
Drives the Williamses to Chalons, 212. 
Letter from Williams, 212. Visits the 
Williamses at Pisa, 214. First glimpse 
of Shelley, 214. Description of Shelley, 
215. '* Where is he? " 215. Introduced 
to Mrs. Shelley, 216. Goes with Shel- 
ley to visit Byron, 216. Byron at bil- 
liards, 217. Byron's frivolous talk, 217. 
]3yron's vivacity and memory, 218. 
Description of Byron, 218. Fires at a 
mark with Hyron and Shelley, 219. 
Surprised at Byron's docility, 220. 
l>yron's chat with him about "Don 
Juan" and Shelley, 221. A suggestion 
to Byron, 221. "If we puffed the 
Snake," 221. Comparisons are odorous. 
222. Where he passed his hours and 
evenings, 223. "The Snake has fasci- 
nated 3'ou," 223. Byron the real snake, 
224. Byron's questions, 225. Bathing 
in the Arno, 226. Tells Shelley how to 
swim, 227, Saves Shelley from drown- 
ing, 227. Conversation with Shelley, 
227. Leaves Shelley reading, 228. Re- 
turns and finds him reading, 228. 
"What's this?" 228. Lugs Shelley 
in to dinner, 228. Byron's remark about 
Shelley, 229. Goes with Mrs. Shelley 
to find Shelley, 230. Questions an old 
man about him, 231. Finds his wood- 
land study, 231. Tells Shelley his wife 
is in despair, 232. " Poor Mary !" 232. 
Picks up a scrawl of Shelley's, 233. 
Shelley speaks of his writings, 234. 
Shelley pays a visit with him, 235. 
Tells a Scotch woman about Shelley, 

13 



235. Takes Shelley to the docks at 
Leghorn, 236. With Shelley on board 
the San Spiridione, 237. Conversation 
with an American mate, 238. Sea talk 
with Shelley, 240. Proposes 40 form a 
colony, 241. Tells Byron his plan, 241. 
Writes to Captain Roberts for estimates, 
241. Takes a house with Williams for 
the Shelleys, 242. Settles with Captain 
Roberts, 242. Draws plans on the 
sands. 243. Dispatches the boat to 
Shelley, 245. Letters from Shelley, 
245-6. Sailing in Shelley's boat, 247. 
Description of the seamanship of Shel- 
ley and Williams, 248. Advice to Wil- 
liams, 248. " If we had been in a 
squall," 249. Watches Shelley and 
Williams set sail, 253. Makes inquiries, 
255. Horrible suspense, 255. Dis- 
patches a courier, 255. Patrols the 
coast, 256. Examines the bodies washed 
ashore, 256. Recognizes them, 256. 
Visits the two widows, 257. Writes to 
the English minister at Florence, 258. 
Reply of the English minister, 258. Has 
a furnace made, 259. Walks with Byron 
to the grave, 260. Opening the grave 
of Williams, 261. Byron's remark, 261. 
The burning of Williams, 262. Takes a 
swim with Byron. 262. Gathers the ashes 
of Williams, 262. Gpening the a:rave of 
Shelley, 263. Byron wants Shelley's 
skull, 263. Burning Shelly's body, 264. 
Saves Shelley's heart, 264. Purchases 
a grave for Shelley in Rome, 265. Let- 
ter from Lei^h Hunt with inscriptions, 
265. Adds three lines from " The Tem- 
pest." 2(6. Plants cypresses round 
Shelley's grave, 266. Letters from 
Captain Roberts, 267. Remark to By- 
ron, 269. 
Turner, Dawson, letter of Hogg, to, 60. 

Westbrook, Eliza, Shelley's walk with, 
102. Too civil by half, 102. Reading 
Voltaire, 103. Harriet's guide, philoso- 
pher, and friend, 116. Mythical per- 
sonal appearance, 116. Arrival of the 
peerless one, 116. Over her tea, 117, 
Real personal appearance, 117. What 
Shelley should have done with her, 118. 
Supervision of Harriet, 118. Her Mrs. 
Harris. 118. How she spent her time, 
119. Shelley's jest about, 119. With 
Shelley in Ireland, 129. Answers for 
Harriet's nerves, 149. Horrible threat 
against, 152. More about Harriet's 
nerves, 156. A visitor at Godwin's, 
191. Unkindness to Harriet, 202. 

W^estbrook, Harriet, personal appearance, 
II. A presentation copy for, 53. A 



290 



INDEX. 



messenger for Shelley's sister, loi. 
Horrified at Shelley's principles, 102. 
Visited by Shelley in illness, 102. Com- 
pelled to return to school, 103. Shelley 
not in love with, 103. Throws herself 
on his protection, 103. Shelley's court- 
ship of, 104. Summons Shelley to her, 
105, Elopes with him, 105. 
Westbrook, John, strangely civil to 
Shelley, 102. Shelley refuses his invi- 
! tation, 103. Compells Harriet to return 
i to school, 103. Nickname, 117. Pres- 
ent at Harriet's second marriage, 198. 
Harshness to Harriet, 202. 
Whiskey, washing the bride with, 105. 
Williams, Edward Ellerker, letter to Tre- 



law^ny, 212. Intercedes -with Mr&. 
Shelley, 225. The new toy, 243 No 
vanity, 244. Orders to Shelley. 248. 
Remark of Trelawny, 248. Letter to his 
wife, 250. Starts to return with Shelley, 
253. Finding of his body, 256. Burn- 
ing of the body, 260. 

Williams, Mrs. Jane, '* Come in, Shel- 
ley," 215. ''\\Tiat is the matter, Percy ? " 
224. Letter from her husband, 250. 

Wordsworth, William, At Lausanne, 208. 
Down upon modem improvements. 209. 
Opinion of " The Cenci," 210. His flea- 
trap, 210. 

Wyse, Sir Thomas, boyish speech in 
Dublin, 138. 




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